


But This Time Not Alone

by FelineLarry



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst and Humor, Bad Boy Liam, Broken Families, Bullying, Caddy Niall, Fluff and Smut, Harry as Seth, I promise this is not as heavy as the tags are making it sound, Liam as Ryan, Lirry Bromance, Louis as Summer, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Rich Harry, Slutty Louis, Some light violence (just fighting), The OC au, Underage Drinking, Zayn as Marissa, zouis bromance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:50:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 47,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3625515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelineLarry/pseuds/FelineLarry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Based on/inspired by The OC. In which Liam is Ryan Atwood, Zayn is Marissa Cooper, Harry is Seth Cohen (because they are both curly and awkward and lovely), Louis as Summer Roberts (because sass).</p>
<p>Liam Payne has not had an easy go of it. Alcoholic mother, incarcerated father, troubled big brother. After a brush with the law, he is taken under the wing of Alberto Styles, who sees something in him beyond his rough exterior. Alberto brings Liam out of Chino and into the world of the privileged of Orange County. </p>
<p>Harry Styles lives a cushy, yet unfulfilled life surrounded by shallow, vapid people he has trouble relating to. Most of his classmates don't even see him. All he really wants is someone to hang out with who gets him. Well, that, and the affections of Louis Tomlinson, who he has pinned for from afar.</p>
<p>When Harry's dad brings Liam into their home, everything changes, for both boys. Suddenly, Zayn Malik, who for years had been Harry's neighbor, is now part of his life. And with Zayn comes his best friend: Louis Tomlinson. </p>
<p>Trouble has always had a way of following Liam around. He may have left a lot behind in chino, but trouble seems to be the one thing he can't shake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing, none of this is true, etc.
> 
> It really doesn't matter if you've watched the show or not, as its just the basis/inspiration for the story.
> 
> First off, I want to say I am promising now to not kill anyone off. I had a huge problem with *spoiler alert for the show* them killing Marissa off then, and there is no way I could do that now in good faith. Also, even with everything that has happened recently in the fandom, none of that will affect this story. I started writing this before anything happened, and will continue on that way. 
> 
> I am incredibly thankful to my amazing beta, Flynn. For advice and fixing my mistakes. (If any still exist, that's all on me). 
> 
> Thanks to Bridget for commiserating with me on any and everything Larry and watching all the videos with me more times than could possibly be healthy.
> 
> Also, Intenselouis mentioned there needing to be a The OC au, so the prompt was all her.
> 
> As for the rest, I blame all of this on my sister LuLu. She's the one that got me into this amazing, and yet, incredibly frustrating fandom. So it's her fault. And it isn't mine at all. (Into the woods, anyone? Bueller, Bueller, anyone?)
> 
> The title comes from Konstantine by Something Corporate, which has gotten me through more dark times that I can count. You should go listen to it, because it is beautiful.
> 
> I hope to update weekly, but, we'll see because, life.

Chapter One

It wasn’t Liam’s fault. He’d just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seemed to happen a lot. And, sure, he hadn’t tried to stop Ed from stealing the car. But Ed was, Ed. He may not have been the best big brother ever, but he was the only one Liam had. And that meant something. When you had nothing, family meant everything. Dammit, he knew it was his own fault. He was being a pushover, just like he had been most of his life.

So now, here he was, sitting in a holding cell at the jail. He wasn’t even sure where Ed had been taken to after the officers had gotten to him. They’d put them in two different squad cars. He should have been with Ed. To keep him quiet. Shut up and nod. That’s what Liam was planning on doing in order to get out of here as quickly as possible. Ed had the tendency to get…testy, when in small rooms, to run his mouth at authority.

The door to the cell squeaked on its hinges, as a large man who looked rather angry, and yet, somehow, amused at the same time came into the room. He had a square jaw, dark hair and a briefcase in hand. He was wearing a striped button down and didn’t look to Liam like someone who should have been carrying such an expensive looking briefcase.

The man looked down at a folder he had in his hand, then up at Liam, making eye contact for the first time. “Liam Payne? I take it that’s you.” The man revealed no emotion, like brick wall.

Liam nodded.

“Great. I’m Alberto Styles. I have the privilege of being your public defender,” the man took a seat across from Liam at the hard metal table, the chair scraping against the floor, producing a rather unpleasant sound. “Don’t look so glum, kid. You could do a lot worse.”

I could do a lot better too, Liam thought. They could have at least gotten him someone who wore a proper suit, not just a button up, with two buttons undone. His neck was so thick, surely no shirt could button to the top on him. But Liam did not say any of this. He may have done a stupid thing, but he wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t have made it this far if he had been. Not where he grew up.

“Stealing a car, huh. C’mon Liam, I saw your SAT scores, you’re smart enough to know better. And if you’re going to steal a car, at least make it a good one. Not a Ford Taurus.”

Liam stared at Alberto, expressionless. Was that supposed to be funny? “Where’s my brother?”

“Don’t worry about him. Ed won’t be getting out of here anytime soon.”

“Why?”

“For starters, he’s nineteen, had prior offenses, an ounce of pot in his pocket and had a gun in his pants when he was detained,” he looked thoughtful for a moment. “Can you explain that to me? I’ve never understood why you kids walk around with a gun shoved in your pants. Don’t you ever worry about shooting off your balls?”

“I wouldn’t know. Don’t have a gun.”

Alberto smiled. Well, his eyes wrinkled, which Liam had a feeling was as close to a smile as he was going to get. “That’s because you, Liam, are smart. Smarter than you want people to know. Which leads to my next question: have you thought about college?”

Liam snorted at this. College was the last thing he would waste time thinking about. Kids like him didn’t go to college. If he didn’t end up in jail, he would go work at the plant, just like his deadbeat dad had done before he left, and like Ed did. “Nah. Not really my thing. Don’t like to commit.”

“Look, Liam. I can plead this down to a misdemeanor, you’ll have to do some community service, but if you stay out of trouble, you can have it expunged from your record when you turn eighteen.”

“Sounds great to me.” Liam just wanted out of there.

“But, you have to promise me that you won’t do something this stupid again.”

“Like I said, I don’t like to commit.”

Alberto chuckled, but then his eyes went dark. “Listen, kid. Stealing a car because your big brother told you to is stupid and weak. And those are two things you cannot afford to be anymore. Do you understand me?”

Liam went to open his mouth, but Alberto put up his hand, cutting him off. “Two more things, you need to get over the fact that life dealt you a bad hand. And it’s hard, trust me, I get it. 20 years ago, I was right where you are now. But I got out. And so can you. I grew up no money, deadbeat dad, bad neighborhood, single mom. I was pissed off, and stupid.”

That at least explained the button up—though going off the briefcase and rolex, he clearly had money now, he still wasn’t comfortable dressing that way. “Well, look at you now.”

“Smart kid like you, Liam, you’ve got to have a dream and a plan. It’s the only way life is going to get any better for you.”

Liam scoffed. “Where I’m from, having a dream doesn’t make you smart. Knowing it won’t come true—that does.”

“Look, Liam, I’m on your side, but I’m not here to be your fairy godmother and sweep you away from the mean streets of Chino. If you want out, you’ve got to do it for yourself. I’m just, as someone who has been there, trying to point the way for you,” Alberto scrambled through his briefcase, pulling out a business card. “Here, take my card. You’ll probably never use it—but just incase.”

He grunted his thanks.

\---

Liam squinted at the bright sun, his pupils too wide after being in the dim jail for so long.

He heard the car before he saw it, the put-put-put of a dying muffler, the squeal of treadless tires on hot asphalt. His mom’s beater of a car came into view. It was a car that should have long ago been turned into pieces in a junk yard, if it wasn’t for Ed doing constant repairs on the piece of shit to juice every bit of life the car had to give and beyond. At this point, it was just pulp.

“The fuck did I do to deserve you two dickheads for sons?” His mother screeched, hopping out of the still running car. He could tell by the slight slur to her words that she’d already been hitting the bottle, even though it was barely noon. “Some fucking family I have.”

Alberto stepped out of the shadows, seemingly out of nowhere. Liam had thought he was still inside. “Mrs. Payne? I’m Alberto Styles, I’m Liam’s attorney.”

His mother scowled at Alberto, ignoring his outstretched hand. “You should let him rot in there. Just like his dad did, just like his brother is gonna. Let’s go, Liam.”

Liam looked back at Alberto, and he seemed as if he wanted to say something, but decided against it. “I said let’s go! Get the fuck in the car.”

The last thing Liam saw before his mom sped away were Alberto’s eyebrows knitted in concern.

——-

“Just so you know,” his mom said as she flicked ash from her cigarette out the window, “I’m done with this bullshit, Liam. I want you to pack your things and get out of my house.”

“B-But,” Liam stuttered. It felt like his mind couldn’t process his mother’s words properly. He felt lightheaded. The heat didn’t help that. “Where do you want me to go?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

This whole day had been a nightmare, but this, right here, was the most jarring part. “But, mom…”

“No, Liam. No more. I want you out.”

\---

He’d tried every number he knew, which, admittedly, were not that many. Liam didn’t really have friends. Which was maybe why he had been so eager to go along with Ed’s plan. Anything to feel included.

If Ed had been there, they’d have found somewhere to stay already. Though his brother may have been rough around the edges, he made friends easily, like shooting fish in a barrel. Hell, even with his goofy orange-red hair and perennially milk white skin (an oddity in their part of Southern California), he still managed to get loads of girls. Liam could not say the same of himself.

Not knowing how long it would be until Ed was out, and with no other options, he pulled out the business card Alberto had given him and dialed up the number.

—

“Told ya you could do a lot worse,” Alberto said, through his rolled down window, as he pulled up next to Liam in the parking lot of the 7-11 he’d been hanging out in since he’d left his mom’s with a duffel of clothes and his bike. “Put your bike in the trunk, kid.”

He drove a new BMW, in a shiny black finish. Surprising, for a public servant.

“This is a nice car. I thought your type of lawyer didn’t make any money,” Liam commented as he stared at the touch screen and dials, seat heating and cooling and climate control, whatever that meant. As they drove, the scene outside the window changed gradually from the grit, and graffiti of Chino to the blue expanse of ocean and smooth beaches of Orange County.

“I don’t. But my wife does.”

He didn’t expand on it further, and though he was curious, Liam didn’t push it.

“Where are we going?”

“For now, my house.” Alberto glanced over at Liam, then focused his eyes back on the road. “Until I figure out what to do with you. It’s late, and, child protective services won’t be open until Monday.”

The last thing Liam wanted was for CPS to get involved. He’d had a run in with them as a child, when his dad twisted Ed’s arm so hard that it snapped one of the bones. The school had gotten suspicious and called CPS on the Payne’s. Hadn’t done shit.

They pulled up to the guard house of a gated community. Liam hoped that Alberto didn’t see the look that crossed his face as the security guard said, “Have a good evening, Mr. Styles.” The fuck did his wife do that they lived in this sort of neighborhood and drove this sort of car? Clearly it was all her, because Alberto made peanuts, most of his work being done pro-bono. He had already admitted to coming from a shit background, so it couldn’t have been family money.

The house they pulled into the driveway of was enormous, and though he couldn’t make out the details of the building in the dark, he could see it silhouetted against the dark sky. Hulking. That was another word for it. Jesus-Fucking-Christ.

Alberto rolled the car to a stop and Liam pushed his door to get out.

“You know what, why don’t you wait in the car for a minute.” He looked suddenly nervous, slightly twitchy. Obviously, whoever this super rich wife of his was, she carried his balls in her purse.

Alberto hesitated, looking unsure whether to take out the keys or not.

Liam sighed. “It’s no fun if the keys are in the car.”

Ed would have done it, if he’d been presented with the opportunity to steal a beamer, his brother could have jumped at the chance. But that wasn’t Liam.

“Right.” And with that, he headed into the house, which seemed to swallow him whole as he passed through the massive doors.

Maybe he wouldn’t come back. Maybe Liam could just live in the BMW. Like Alberto had said, he could do a lot worse. Paying for premium gas might be a stretch, but Liam would find a way to make it work.

\---


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry, Zayn and Louis come into the story.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so glad that you guys are enjoying this so far! I was happily surprised at the response I've gotten. 
> 
> Thanks again to Flynn, my awesome beta, and to Bridget and LuLu for input.
> 
> And thank you to all those who have read/commented. It means more than you know!

Chapter Two

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Alberto. You brought him home? He’s not a stray puppy.”

“I know that, Anne. Besides, I would never bring home a puppy, not with Harry’s allergies.”

The joke fell flat.

“He’s a felon,” Anne said sharply, as if that was the only fact that was needed.

“Liam is not a felon.”

“Did you meet him in jail?”

“…Yes, but he didn’t commit a felony. Well, he did, but it will be a misdemeanor by the time I’m done with it.”

“What about Harry? Did you even think about him, how he’d feel about you bringing a teenage criminal into our house?”

“Of course I thought about Harry. It’s only for the weekend. He’s just a kid with nowhere to go.”

Even though he couldn’t see it from his room, he could picture his mother, standing in the kitchen with her arms crossed, her lips pursed in that way that led to more botox treatments. “Fine. But first thing Monday you get him to child protective services. First thing, Al, I mean it.”

A pause.

“What did he do anyway?”

“He stole a car.”

For as much as his mom wore the pants in the family, when it came to his self-righteous charity cases, his dad had a tendency to not listen to her.

Harry wondered how after all these years, his parents still didn’t realize that just because he wasn’t in the same room as them, didn’t mean he couldn’t hear them. Sure, it was a big house, but tall ceilings equaled prime acoustics for eavesdropping.

Harry wanted to meet this so called boy-felon. But he knew it was best if he waited until morning, when his parents had cooled off. Harry was intrigued, if nothing else.

——

Tired of waiting in the car—and in desperate need of a cigarette, Liam climbed out of the BMW and shuffled down the driveway, away from the intimidating mansion. He paused by the brick mailbox (who the fuck has a brick mailbox?) to light up with his cheap bic lighter.

In wasn’t until he inhaled that he realized he was not alone.

A boy with bronzed, olive skin, a sharp slope of a nose, high cheekbones and slicked back dark hair was watching him from a neighboring driveway.

The boy was fit, there was no denying that. Liam wasn’t gay, strictly speaking. But he could appreciate the beauty of another guy. And if there was ever a guy with beauty, it was this one watching him through dark eyes with long, thick lashes that seemed to brush his cheeks when he blinked.

The boy checked his phone, shoved it back into the pocket of his jacket and looked back at Liam.

“Who are you?” the boy asked.

“Whoever you want me to be,” Liam answered swiftly, so swiftly that he was actually impressed with himself—he was seldom ever smooth in the moment.

The boy took a step back, confused. He narrowed his eyes, as if trying to figure out if he should ignore Liam, ask more, or fight him. Instead, he just gave a skeptical, “Okay?” which was more of a question than a statement.

Liam shrugged and leaned against the stupid brick tower of a mailbox and turned his eyes from the boy, surveying the neighborhood around him.

The boy looked him over again. “Can I bum a cig?”

Liam stepped closer, and extended a cigarette. The boy smiled in gratitude. And then, Liam did something else that was very out of character for him. He leaned forward and lit the cigarette that hung from the boy’s lips with the glowing ember at the end of his own.

He didn’t move away like Liam had expected him to, instead, just gave a small smile, looking up at Liam from underneath his dark lashes. Their eyes met for a moment. But then the boy stepped away as he inhaled.

Liam backed up, still facing him.

Through a plume of smoke, the boy asked, “So what are you doing here? Seriously?”

“Seriously?” Liam raised his eyebrows, trying to gauge how pretty boy would handle the truth. What the fuck, he decided. He blew out smoke, curling it from the corner of his lips “I stole a car.” He took a step forward. “Crashed it.” Another step. “Actually, my brother did.” A step more. ”Since he had a gun and drugs on him, he’s in jail.” Step. “I got out. Then my mom threw me out, she was pissed off and drunk.” One more step and he was close enough to see the pores on his face. “So, Mr. Styles took me in.”

A smile played across the boy’s lips as he took a drag, his eyes turning to slits. “Right, you’re their cousin from Boston?”

Liam sighed and took a step back. Damn boy was so sheltered up in his mansion on the hill he didn’t think Liam’s story could possibly be true. If only he knew what the rest of his life was like.

“Right.”

“Hello, Zayn,” Alberto’s voice came from behind them. Zayn immediately step backwards, though his movements were slow, deliberate.

“Hey, Mr. Styles. I was just meeting your nephew.”

A pause. “Ah, right. My favourite nephew, Liam, from Seattle.” He clapped his hand on Liam’s shoulder, the way an uncle might. Liam had the feeling Alberto didn’t have any nephews in real life.

Wrong coast, Liam thought.

“Seattle,” Zayn questioned, raising his eyes to Liam’s.

“Dad lives there,” Liam filled in. “Mom lives in Boston.” Liam wasn’t sure what it was about this place, but it seemed as if it was doing something to him. He felt, somehow, cooler. And Liam had never, for even a single day in his life, felt cool. Well, maybe he felt cool when he was helping Ed steal the car. But that was more cool by association. Talking to Zayn, the cool he was feeling all came from himself.

“So, Zayn, I’m looking forward to you charity gallery showing tomorrow.”

Zayn snorted. “Really, you are?”

Alberto removed his hand from Liam’s shoulder. “No.”

Zayn nodded, as if he expected this. He didn’t seem bothered by it.

“You should check it out, stop by if you aren’t busy,” he offered as he dropped his cigarette to the pavement and stomped it out with the toe of his loafer. What self-respecting teenager wore loafers?

A tricked out jeep pulled up, music blaring. A girl with bright blonde hair and a round face peaked out from behind the steering wheel, looking impatient.

“Get in, Z.”

Zayn headed for the passenger side, but not before he threw a “See ya’” over his shoulder.

Liam watched as the pair kissed for a long moment, before turning to Alberto, who was already headed back up the driveway. Liam followed as the music, the jeep and the boy carried off to somewhere else.

——

Harry had been camped out in the living room since six, waiting for this felon-boy (Liam, that was his name. He needed to remember that. Or, at the very least, not call him felon-boy, if he wanted to get off on the right foot.) He knew that upon waking up, Liam would have to come straight into the living room from the pool house if he wanted to eat—which, Harry assumed, at some point, he would. Until that time, Harry occupied himself with video games. Which suited him just fine. It was pretty much how he’d spent his summer anyway.

Luckily, Harry didn’t have to wait too many hours for felon b—Liam, to show his face. He wasn’t nearly as intimidating as Harry had been expecting. He looked a bit shorter than Harry, and though he was muscular, he looked rather young, with a mop of light brown hair sticking up in different directions, and puppy dog eyes (now Harry got the stray dog reference—no wonder his dad couldn’t say no). The only thing that screamed felon about the kid was the white wifebeater he wore. Which, though Harry knew he was pretty much the farthest thing from a criminal, if he was one, he would make it a point to not be a cliche criminal.

Liam looked Harry up and down from where he sat like a pretzel on the floor.

“Hey,” Harry said, in the most masculine, casual, bro-like way he could manage.

“Hey,” Liam said.

There was the opening Harry had been waiting for. “Want to play?” he asked, equally nonchalant.

Liam shrugged and took the controller that Harry had left out, waiting for this mysterious new boy who was temporarily occupying their pool house. Harry wiggled his butt on the floor in celebration. He couldn’t help it. He never had anyone to play with him. He hoped that to Liam it just looked like he was moving over to make room for him on the floor, and not the celebratory butt-wiggle it actually was.

—--

Liam couldn’t decide how he felt about the gangly, curly haired kid who sat beside him, playing video games. On one hand, he was glad that Simon’s son was not treating him like a felon. On the other hand, well…the kid, Harry, who seemed to be the same age as him, was a little…odd.

“Looks like someone’s trying to be a hero, but he got a little cocky!” Harry exclaimed, eyes on the tv, fingers moving rapidly. “XO,XO,” he said, breathily, as if he was so excited he was having trouble catching his breath. “It’s an unbeatable combination.”

As the head of Liam’s player blew to bits on screen, Harry made an odd, orgasmic sound/shout unlike anything Liam had ever heard. Liam scooted further away from the curly headed one.

“What happened to your head, dude? Where did it go? Did someone die?” Curly went on. “You want to play grand-theft auto now? It’s pretty cool, you can like steal cars and…” He trailed off suddenly, his eyes wide as he realized the error in his words.

Liam raised his eyebrows and tried not to laugh too hard.

Harry turned red in the cheeks, flustered. He looked quite cute, flustered like that. “Not that it’s cool. Or, uncool. I mean, I don’t know.” He tripped over his words, making it more awkward with each syllable that slipped through his lips.

Jesus, the poor kid.

“I see you two have met,” Alberto said, coming into the room in a bathrobe. Which was an odd sight. Alberto Styles didn’t seem like the bathrobe type. “Harry, why don’t you take Liam out. It’s lovely outside—don’t just sit inside all day.”

He shuffled out of the room without waiting for a response, leaving Harry and Liam to stare at each other.

“Do you want to go out and do something?”

“Sure.”

A pause. Harry combed his finger through his bangs so they were in front of his face and then flipped them to the side. “What do you want to do?”

Liam shrugged. “I don’t know. What do you do around here for fun?”

\- - -

Harry was a bit apprehensive about taking Liam out on his boat at first. Because— a) clearly what Harry did for fun was a whole world away from what Liam seemed to do for fun (Car theft?) and b) Harry was nervous that Liam would ask about the sailboat’s name. But then again, Liam seemed a man of few words, so perhaps he had nothing to worry about.

Liam seemed so cool and collected on land. But out on the water, he was fidgety in his life vest, clearly out of his element. He stayed hunched over after a close call with the boom, as if he didn’t want to risk head injury by chancing it and instead chose a crick in the neck.

They stopped to drift, the water lapping on the sides of the boat. They shared pops from a cooler Harry had brought with them. Harry sat cross legged, while Liam sprawled out, leaning back against the post. Harry wrapped a loose end of rope around the can of pop. He really should have brought bottles—something with a cap. His orange crush was already starting to taste a bit salty.

“I’m thinking about sailing to Tahiti next summer,” Harry said, still looking down at the aluminum can and bit of nylon rope in his hand.

Liam cocked his head, interested.

“It’ll take about 44 days, but I know I can do it. It’ll be nice. Calm. Quiet. Solitude.”

“Won’t you get lonely?” Liam asked.

“Nah, I’ll have Lou with me.”

Liam looked at the small rig they were on, and then at Harry. “You’re going to take this to Tahiti?” he asked skeptically.

Harry bit his lip and ran his pointer finger around the can. “Eh, no. It’s the guy the boat’s named after. I’m in love with him.” Blue Lou—that was what Harry had named his boat. He could feel hit cheeks flush red.

Liam did not seemed put off by Harry’s sudden orientation revelation. Harry appreciated that, as it had not been what he was expecting. Liam didn’t shift away or fidget uncomfortable. He just looked, thoughtful. “He must be pretty psyched.”

Harry coughed, once. “Yeah, ummm, about that. He doesn’t know. Actually, I’ve never talked directly to him before. He may not know I exist.”

Liam stared at Harry. Harry didn’t return the gaze, instead moving to clean away the empty cans into the cooler.

“Well, We’ll just have to fix that.”

“How?”

“Well, where does he usually hang out? You need a casual run in.” Liam winced slightly as he said this. He probably realized that casual was not Harry’s strong suit.

“Dunno. I know tonight he’ll be at this charity art show thing that his best friend is putting on.”

“Oh yeah, I heard about that. Your neighbor invited me.”

Harry gaped at him. He hadn’t even been in town for twenty-four hours and already he was getting invited to things that Harry hadn’t managed to get invited to without his parents help in the sixteen years he’d lived here. “Zayn?”

“Dark hair, cheek bones and loafers?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.”

Harry thought about it for a minute. It wasn’t the worst idea he’d ever heard. Maybe this was the year he’d finally get Louis to notice him.

“You’ll hang out with me there?”

“Yeah.”

“And you won’t ditch me so I’ll have to hang with my parents all night?”

“Who would I ditch you for? You’re the only person I know.”

Harry considered this. Liam did seem to have a bit of an in with Zayn. And everyone knew Zayn was the way to Louis. This alleged felon walking into his life could have been the best thing to happen to him in, oh, sixteen years.

“Alright. I’m in.”

\- - -

The show was held at an airy, modern gallery that over looked the ocean. The walls were all white, to show off the art work, Liam supposed, though he knew even less about art than he knew about tying ties (Alberto had to tie his for him, apparently suit and tie was a requirement for the gallery. Liam had been surprised to see Alberto dressed similarly to Harry and him. He’d managed to get the top button done, at least for one night.)

As they stepped into the space, where plastic looking people sipped on strong smelling drinks, Harry leaned over and whispered to him. “Welcome to the dark side.”

And dark it certainly was. Black suits, black dresses, some color thrown in, but the women were so slight that the little colored fabric it took to clothe them got lost in a sea of tall men in dark suits.

Liam was wearing one of Harry’s (What sixteen year old owned more than one suit?). It was a bit too long in the legs, and a bit too tight in the shoulders, but it fit well enough so that Liam didn’t stand out like a sore thumb in this crowd.

He spotted Zayn in the crowd, his dark hair slicked back, all but one strand which fell in his face. His cheekbones looked somehow sharper than they had the night before. Liam wasn’t sure how that was possible.

“Don’t look now,” Harry whispered as he handed him a coca-cola, in a glass, with ice. “But Louis is right over there.”

Liam sipped his drink in an effort to not look over.

“Okay, now. Now, now, now you can look,” Harry nudged his elbow in a spastic way to signal that Liam should look in the direction he had been avoiding. As if whisper shouting now hadn’t been enough.

Liam caught sight of a rather small boy with honey gold skin and his brown hair in a quiff. He was surrounded by a group of male and female admirers alike, who seemed to be laughing at something Louis was saying.

“He just looks like Tahiti, doesn’t he?” Harry said wistfully.

Liam wasn’t sure where Tahiti was, let alone what it would look like embodied in a human, so he was willing to take Harry’s word for it.

He looked like trouble to Liam. And he should know.

Liam chose to quietly sip his drink while Harry continued to admire Louis from afar.

He scanned the crowd in the open gallery room, eyes flicking over the forgettable masses. His eyes paused on a small girl with white blonde hair and big eyes. The same girl who whisked Zayn away the night before. She sipped on champagne, looking bored, while listening to the three guys who were with her talk. Zayn was not among them.

\- - -

Zayn stood in the bathroom, hands on either side of the cool marble slab of a counter. Greys and white swirled together. Why did he agree to do this—share his art with all of Newport, he thought. What if they all hated it? They probably wouldn’t get it. He should have done pieces that were cleaner, brighter. More mainstream. Zayn tended towards the darker side of life in his art, the gritty, raw underbelly of this vapid, surface dwelling world he inhabited. He took a swig of vodka from the bottle he had snagged at home and stored under the sink.

*Knock, knock, knock*

“Occupied,” he mumbled, doubting that whoever was on the other side of the door could articulate his words.

“Z, I know that’s you. Let me in.”

Zayn sighed. If it had been anyone else—even Perrie—he would’nt have opened the door. But for Louis, he would.

Louis slipped in through the cracked door, pausing only to squeeze his rather round backside in. Louis always joked that he had a girlish figure. “Perfect hourglass!” he’d often say. Zayn never bothered to point out that typically boobs had to factor into the equation to be classified as an hourglass figure. If it made him happy, Louis could think whatever he wanted.

“Look what I stole,” Louis smirked, extending one of two champagne flutes to Zayn.

He accepted it, gratefully, and downed it in one go. Zayn opened the cabinet door below the sink. “Look what I stole,” he said, motioning to the vodka.

Louis cackled. “Always have to show me up, don’t you.” He downed his own champagne and then hopped up onto the marble countertop. Louis looked at his best friend and frowned. “What’s the matter, Zaynster?”

“Just nerves, I guess.”

“No need to be nervous. Everyone here loves you. And, you’re talented. And I’m not just saying that because you’re my best friend.”

Zayn shook his head and reached for the vodka.

“You’ve always been your toughest critique. But just remember this,” Louis took him by the shoulders, and forced him to make eye contact. “You are Zayn, fucking Malik. You, are a god.”

Zayn pushed him away, without force. “Fuck off.”

“Hey, man that’s not me talking, that’s what all the girls say. Zayn Malik is Jesus Christ.”

Zayn shook his head as he swallowed another mouthful of vodka. “Jesus.”

“Exactly. Zayn Malik and Jesus Christ—synonyms. Don’t believe me, check the thesaurus.”

Louis hopped off the counter, checked his hair in the mirror, and then turned back to him. ”C’mon, it’s time for you to be worshipped by the masses.”

\- - -

Liam wandered the gallery, Harry glued to his side, pausing every so often to take in the work.

There were charcoal nudes, scary-thin girls with their ribs jutting out sharply beneath their small breasts. Colorful landscapes of the ocean, and the sun setting all different ways, saturated with color. And then there were the ones Liam found himself drawn to most. Thick canvases splashed with black paint and spray painted with images distorted from life, as if looking through the wrong end of a telescope. They reminded Liam of home, with their graffiti feel. They seemed so out of place here, in this expansive, clean space, with all these plastic people.

From somewhere near the front of the room, a voice came through a microphone. “Hey there, Newport. I just wanted to say a big thank you to everyone for coming out tonight to support a great cause,” At the front of the room, near where the string quartet had been calmly playing music stood Louis Tomlinson. His hair was feathered up into a quiff, and as he spoke, smile spread across his face, his eyes crinkled in the corners. He was charismatic, Liam had to give him that. Maybe that’s what Harry had been so attracted to in him. “We’ve got some really great talent displaying tonight. Namely, the headliner, who also happens to be my best friend—Zayn Malik.”

There was a polite smattering of applause. Liam watched as Zayn took the mic from Louis, looking slightly bashful, his cheeks red beneath his tan.

“Thanks, Tommo,” Zayn rubbed the side of his hand against his brow. His voice was lower, and less articulate than Louis’. He also lacked the brash confidence his best friend possessed. “Right, like Lou said, this a a fantastic and deserving cause. It’s great that we are able to expose new artists, while at the same time, giving back. So, uh, thank you.”

More clapping. Zayn scanned the crowd, and his dark eyes paused on Liam. Zayn gave him the slightest smile as he handed the mic back to the cello player.

Liam and Harry made another loop around the gallery.

“You want to take off soon?” Harry seemed to have resigned himself to the fact that tonight would not be the night he caught Louis Tomlinson’s eye.

“Yeah, if that’s what you want.”

Harry nodded, “I’m gonna go to the little boys room, then we can grab the car.”

“I’ll be here waiting.” He watched the tall, baby giraffe of a boy make his way through the crowd.

“So, I hear you’re from Boston?” Liam turned to see Louis standing behind him, hands clasped behind his back.

“Sure,” Liam said easily.

“I don’t know how you do it. Couldn’t take the cold, myself.” Louis stepped closer, a glint in his blue eyes. “So, what are you up to after this?”

Liam shrugged.

“You should come over to my friend Ben’s house. He lives right on the beach, and his parents are out of town. We’re having a little party.”

“Maybe,” Liam said in the most noncommittal way. He kept the option open for Harry.

Louis got distracted, pulled away by someone, and was already long gone by the time Harry returned. “Let’s go get the car, and then we can spend the rest of the night killing things on screen.”

“Wait, Harry,” Liam reached out, grabbing hold of his elbow to stop him from walking away. “I think we should go to that party at Ben’s.”

“Ha, very funny. He is the king of all dickheads. No, I’d rather chew glass, thank you very much.”

“Louis invited me—us. He invited us. Asked for you specifically.”

Harry looked thoughtful for a moment. “That makes absolutely no sense. But okay. If Louis asked, then we certainly can’t deny him.”

Liam smirked, but followed Harry to the valet stand.

\- - -

  


  


  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to chat, you can find me on tumblr as Alltoowellmoments.
> 
> Comments, negative, positive and indifferent are always appreciated.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to post this next chapter earlier than I intended, partially because I got it edited quicker than I anticipated, and, partially because my team just lost in the final four, so March Madness no longer holds much interest for me...anywayyyyyy, this chapter may cause second hand embarrassment, just as a warning :)
> 
> Ahhh, I almost forgot, I'm so all over the place right now, between my basketball team craziness, and my teeny son and his husband just being their beautiful selves. Big thanks to my beta Flynn, for just being the greatest, and, as always, to LuLu and Bridget for all the bullshit.

Chapter Three

“Did you see that new guy?” Louis asked as they sped down the highway to Ben’s beach house. Perrie had the top down on her jeep, so he had to shout to be heard over the noise.

From the front seat, Zayn turned his head so his ear would catch the words, before they were lost in the dark of the night, carried off by the wind.

“I did,” Jesy said, also shouting. She had her hands on either side of her face in an attempt to keep her hair in place. It wasn’t working. “And Oh my god, he was completely gorge. _Le sigh_.”

“God, I know right,” Louis shouted. His quiff had been almost entirely flattened in the wind.

“Which one?” Zayn asked, playing innocent.

“Z, even I noticed him,” Perrie added from beside him. “And that’s saying something when I have you.”

“Okay, Pez, rub it in all our faces. You are happily in love with a god, while us mere peasants must fight for scraps.”

“So true,” Jesy agreed. “I’m sorry, Lou, but if there is even the slightest hint this guy is straight—he’s mine.”

“How very dare you!” Louis shouted. Zayn had the feeling that this time, the shouting was not due to the wind. “No. No! Pez, tell her I called dibs!”

Perrie laughed, “Louis, you ignorant slut, you can’t call dibs on a person.”

“Sure I can. And I did. So, Jesy, hands off baby Boston. Tonight I’m going to play him hot, and cold.”

They all laughed. “Louis, do you even know the guy’s name?”

“Zaynie, Zaynie, don’t you know that’s the least important part of a boy,” he winked at Zayn.

Zayn went back to facing forward in his seat. Jesy and Louis went on talking, but at a lower level so he could’t articulate everything being said.

Louis hadn’t always been this way. The slutty part. Louis wasn’t strictly gay—he had a fluid sort of sexuality. Mostly went for guys, but he’d been with girls too. But lately, it seemed like his type was anything homo sapien and breathing. He’d promised Zayn he was being safe—but it still worried him. Louis had always had a reckless side to him. It was part of what made him so interesting—you never knew what he was going to do. The other side of the coin was that it was frustrating beyond belief.

They’d been best friends for as long as Zayn could remember. Like, he had no memories pre-Louis. He liked to think that he knew the boy better than anyone. And vice-versa. Even Perrie didn’t know him as well as Lou did.

Louis Tomlinson was one of those people who loved to put on a show for people. And he did a good job of it. He was always on. Zayn wasn’t like that. Found it exhausting. He was an introvert by nature, and sometimes it was difficult to overcome. Alcohol seemed to help. It loosened him up. His lips, his mind, his body. He stopped being so painfully aware of every movement and how it would look to other people. Stopped questioning each thought he had, running through them a time or two before he permitted them to slip through his lips.

As they turned down on the service road that led to the Winston’s, Perrie slowed the jeep down. Sand was gritty beneath the wheels. The sky was dark, too foggy a night for stars to be visible. The air smelled and tasted of salt and sea.

He was going to a party with his girl, her best friend, and his best friend. It was still summer. He’d seemed to have good response to his work at the gallery event. And yet. His mind was on the boy with the leather jacket, cigarette hanging from his lips as he leaned against a mailbox. That didn’t sit well with Zayn. He pulled the vodka bottle from beneath the seat and took a long drink, pushing through the burn.

\- - -

Harry hadn’t been to a party since—well, he wasn’t actually sure the last party he went to. He knew, though, that he had never been to one like this.

He followed Liam into the Winston’s modern house on the beach.

Music blared, assaulting his ears with constant, heavy bass. Color everywhere. Girls in various states of dress. Dancing, voices mingling. His shiny dress boots stuck to the floor of the foyer, sticky with spilled beer already. He immediately felt overdressed in his suit and tie.

He could feel his eyes go wide, despite his efforts to stay nonchalant.

Liam turned to him and said, with a crooked smile, “Welcome to the dark side.”

Harry followed Liam towards the keg. He took everything in. Or at least, tried. There was a lot going on. People passing around a bong; several games of beer pong going on simultaneously; two girls and a guy doing…wait was that?

“Are they doing cocaine?” he whisper shouted, his voice high with scandal.

“Harry, c’mon, let’s get you a drink.” Liam pulled his tie off and shoved it into the pocket of his pants,

Harry sipped the lukewarm beer Liam pumped from the keg. It tasted bitterly sour and flat. He scanned the crowd for Louis—the sole reason he was here.

Louis Tomlinson was one of those people who managed to fill up any room he entered. He wasn’t a big person, physically. It was his energy, bright and life giving, like the sun. It couldn’t be contained by his small body. When Harry imagined kissing him, he saw himself stooping down to reach Louis’ slight lips, and Louis tiptoeing to make himself a bit taller. They would meet in the middle, at long last, things fitting together as Harry had always hoped they would.

Louis was at the glass dining room table, doing shots with Ben, Jesy and Zayn. They all laughed at something Louis said, while Jesy scowled, hip-checking Louis on her way to the tequila.

“Want to do a shot?” Liam asked, tilting his head toward the scene Harry had been watching.

Liam must have taken his shrug for an affirmative response.

Harry trailed behind Liam, like a lost puppy. He felt so out of place in this alien surrounding. His eyes kept continuously sliding back to Louis, like a reflex. Habit, maybe.

“Boston!” Louis cheered, raising his empty shot glass into the air. “You came!” Louis positioned himself so he was standing right in front of the two outsiders, one hand supporting him on the table. He narrowed his eyes at Harry.

Harry could feel a slow burning at the back of his neck, in the place where his overgrown hair curled against his collar. His arms felt strange—a bit jittery, like his blood was moving too fast through his veins.

“And you brought… I’m sorry, what’s your name again?”

Harry opened his mouth, his tongue suddenly more like a dead fish in his mouth than a functioning muscle. “Harry,” he squeaked out, his voice cracking.

Louis raised one eyebrow, and crinkled his nose. “Righhttt.” The word was drawn out in a way which made it sound like Louis didn’t believe him. And he then turned back to Liam. “Shots all around?”

The small glasses were distributed. Jesy Nelson shoved a used, sticky one into Harry’s hand. He held it daintily in his large hands while he waited for it to be filled.

“Lick you hand,” Jesy instructed.

Harry stared at her, confused. “Huh?”

“Lick your hand,” she repeated, slower this time.

She had always seemed a bit scary to Harry, so he did as she asked without questioning her again. She sprinkled salt from a shaker onto his now-damp hand. Zayn poured tequila in everyone’s glasses, and limes were distributed.

In truth, Harry had never done a shot before. He’d hardly ever drank, beyond the occasional glass of wine his parents permitted him at special dinners. He looked over to Liam, his eyes darting.

Liam must have seen the apprehension in Harry, because he leaned down and whispered “Salt, shot, lime.”

Harry nodded and got a whiff of the liquor. He cringed in a hard, spastic way and a bit of the liquid splashed out of the glass.

“Bottoms up,” Louis said, winking right at Liam, as he raised his glass in their general direction, licked the salt, pounded back the tequila and shoved the lime wedge into his mouth, all in one fell swoop.

Harry tried to copy his actions, as beside him, Liam did the same. Liam did not look the least bit unsure, because of course, he knew how to take a shot, just like everyone else. Harry was the odd one out, as it had been his whole life.

He did not look nearly as casual throwing back the liquid as Louis and Liam did. He held the liquor in his mouth, and then tried to force it down. His throat rebelled, his tongue gagging him. Through watery eyes, he managed to swallow it down. The lime helped a bit, but not enough.

He decided then and there that he hated tequila and would never have it again.

“Another, Henry?” Louis asked, as he filled Liam’s glass up with Patron.

Henry. Not quite there, but almost. He was actually acknowledging Harry’s presence, which was already leaps and bounds from where they had been before this night.

“Of course,” Harry said, suppressing his gag reflex at at the smell.

\- - -

After shots and a failed round of beer pong, Harry excused himself to the bathroom, looking a little green.

“Your cousin a lightweight?” Zayn asked, pointing his thumb in the direction Harry had headed.

“Not sure. It’s looking that way though.”

Someone cranked up the stereo. “It’s my song!” an unseen girl shrieked.

Zayn straddled one of the dining room chairs and leaned nearer Liam. “What do you think of Newport so far?” he asked with a smile.

“Honestly, I think I could get in a lot less trouble where I’m from.”

“Isn’t that always the truth?”

A weight fell into Liam’s lap. It was Louis, looking sloppily drunk, his eyes glazed and shinning, his hair flat and disheveled. Liam instantly stiffened.

“Boys. Zaynie,” Louis looked between the two, his voice sounding grave. “Baby Boston.” He tried to hold Liam’s gaze. Liam looked over Louis’ head, making it impossible. “We are going skinny dipping.”

“If you seriously think that, you’ve got another think coming, you fucker,” Zayn said, and his words rang true, but there was a softness to them, as if fucker was a term of endearment between the two.

“Baby Boston,” Louis slurred. Vodka orange juice dribbled out of his cup and onto Liam’s lap. “Whoops.”

Liam sighed, looking around for something to clean up with. “It’s fine.”

“What are you doing?” Harry said, eyes wide.

Bad timing on Harry’s part. Liam looked down at the position he was seated in—with Louis on his lap, who was attempting to clean up the wet spot, dangerously close to his crotch, using the hem of his t-shirt.

Liam stood up, and Louis fell to the ground without a lap to sit on. “Harry—“ he began.

“No. I can’t believe this. I named my boat after him, you dickhead!”

From the ground, Louis looked up at the two boys, confused. “You named a what?”

“It’s not—“ again, Harry cut Liam off.

“Why don’t you just go back to Chino, where you belong. I’m sure there is a nice car in the parking lot you can steal.” With that, Harry stumbled out of the room, headed to the deck, his stilt-like legs helping him to get away quickly.

Liam turned away from the sight of the curly haired baby giraffe receding into the dark night. The room was quieter now, all the people in his basic vicinity watching him through wary eyes.

Liam reached his hand down to help Louis up. Louis shook his head and instead used the chair to leverage himself off the floor. “Eww, Chino,” he said, his nose wrinkling up like a pigs.

Liam sighed and headed for the beach, to find Harry.

\- - -

Liam. He’d trusted him. He’d seemed so nice, chill. He didn’t treat Harry like a freak, like all of his classmates did, just because he didn’t listen to the same music, wasn’t on the swim or water polo teams and liked to dress in flamboyantly patterned shirts.

But there he was, with Louis on his fucking lap. Harry’s Louis. Louis with his crinkly blue eyes, his teeny hands, dainty ankles and strong jaw. Teeny hands that had been on Liam’s crotch.

Fuck Liam Payne.

Harry kept walking,even as his feet hit sand. The sound of the slow tide lapping on the beach, waves rolling in, and retreating out in a steady beat.

He looked at his shoes, the dress boots he’d had a fight with his mom over. She had wanted him to wear classic looking dress shoes, but Harry had fallen in love with the pointed toe, shiny Saint Laurent boots and refused to wear anything else with a suit. The were dusted with sand now, their shine dimmed.

He was so focused on his boots, he stumbled right into someone solid.

“Jesus, watch where you’re walking, freak,” Ben Winston spit at him.

Harry took a step back. There was Ben, and Perrie Edwards. Her blonde hair was disheveled, and his shirt was askew.

Oh. Harry thought, eyes going wide. OH.

“Get out of here, fairy,” Perrie said in a voice that rang far too innocent.

Other boys came seemingly out of nowhere, swim teammates of Ben’s.

One, who was as tall as Harry, but more built, knocked his shoulder, making him stumble. “Why don’t you go bake a cake, queer?”

That kid had been in Harry’s home ec class last year. Harry had taken it because he liked to bake and do domestic things. Ben’s lackey had taken it for the girls.

The group laughed. Harry couldn’t see them. The wind had picked up, blowing his too-long hair over his eyes. He felt dizzy as he tried to get his bearings.

“You should throw him in the water,” Perrie suggested.

Harry was scooped up into strange arms, hair still wild. “Hey,” he squeaked out, “I bake a very good cake.” They moved towards the water. Harry felt motion sick.

His boots. His beautiful boots. If they threw him in the water, they would be irreparably ruined. The thought made his stomach turn.

“Is there a problem here?” It was Liam’s voice.

Ben dropped him, and Harry rolled onto the sand, splayed out on the ground with his legs apart. “I don’t know,” he said, getting up in Liam’s face, “is there?”

Clearly, Ben did not know Liam was from Chino. Liam wound up and nailed him right in the face. He retaliated by tackling Liam to the ground, and began pummeling him. Harry stayed on the sand, helpless.

Ben stood up, and brushed off his shorts as he gazed down at Liam. He looked pleased with himself. “Welcome to the OC, bitch,” Ben spat. The group walked away, headed back to the lights of the house.

Harry pushed himself up so he was sitting. Liam rolled onto his side, hand held to his soon-to-be bruising cheek.

Maybe Harry was wrong. Maybe Liam wasn’t so bad after all.

\- - -

The two boys stumbled back into the pool house, looking worse for the wear than they had when they’d departed earlier that evening. Harry collapsed onto the bed, while Liam took his too-tight shoes off by the door.

“I owe you an apology. And a thank you. Because, you really had my back out there, man.”

Liam shrugged. “Yeah, well.” Of course he had Harry’s back—he certainly wasn’t going to let the poor kid be used as a punching bag. And, someone had to have his back. It looked like Liam was going to have to be that someone if he stayed here.

“That was like, some fight club shit.” Harry paused, leaning forward so his elbow rested on his knee, and his chin in his hand. “Or should I not have said that. Since you aren’t supposed to talk about fight club.”

Liam laughed at that, despite himself.

“You just need to teach me some of you moves.” Harry imitated a mix of what looked like karate, with some ballet positions thrown in. “Like, that. And that. And that and that and that.” He smiled, satisfied with himself, before collapsing back onto the bed. “I’m on Louis’ radar now. So here is my question for you?” He paused for effect. “Do I tell him about Tahiti?”

“I think it’s probably too soon.”

Harry nodded gravely, his curls bouncing. “My thoughts exactly. Great minds and all that. This was a fun night, I’m not going to forget this.”

Liam slipped into the bathroom to brush his teeth with the toothbrush Mrs. Styles had left for him. When he came back, Harry was asleep, breathing heavy and deep through his mouth. His sandy boots were still on. Liam sighed as he bent down to take them off. He left them by the door on his way outside to smoke.

The pool deck overlooked the Malik’s house. The lights were off, no signs of stirrings from within.

A car pulled into the driveway—a red BMW. Out came Louis and Jesy, carrying a passed out Zayn. They seemed to be having a bit of difficulty.

“I can’t believe he did this again,” Jesy said, her voice loud with alcohol.

“You know this is how he is,” Louis said.

“Shouldn’t his girlfriend be doing this, not me?”

“She’s so useless. I’m not even sure where she wandered off to,” Louis said as they roughly set him down near the front door.”You have his keys?”

“No, I thought you did. They weren’t in his pockets, I checked.”

“We can’t wake up his parents—they’ll positively flip.”

“Can we just leave him here? He’ll wake up soon, right?”

Louis waited a beat before answering. “Fuck it. I got him this far—he can cart his own ass the rest of the way.”

They peeled out of the driveway, leaving Zayn asleep, outside, and alone.

Liam found himself headed next-door before he really realized what he was doing.

Up close, Zayn looked peaceful, his lashes protecting his eyes from the night. He looked younger like this.

Gently, Liam nudged his shoulder. “Hey, Zayn, where’re your keys?”

Nothing.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

He couldn’t just leave him outside like this all night. Liam stooped down and scooped up the dark haired boy in his arms. He was lighter than he looked. He carried Zayn over to the Styles’ property, going through the back gate to the pool. Its lights cast moving blue-glazed shadows.

In the pool house, Liam carefully set Zayn down on the couch and covered him with a spare blanket.

He’d been planning to sleep there himself—but he supposed one night of sharing with Harry Styles wouldn’t kill him.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll probably update next sometime next week. First I have to work on my actual story for school :/, oh, the life of a student. More importantly, let's all hope we make it through this two month break. 
> 
> If you have a free moment, please comment-good, bad or otherwise. It means a lot and keeps me motivated to push on with the writing. 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as Alltoowellmoments
> 
> Until next time, xx


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks to my kickass beta Flynn, and to LuLu and Bridget. And to my cat Nelson for finally deciding to nap somewhere other than on my keyboard so I could get this posted (side note-what is it with cats and keyboards-are they that comfortable, or is it something else that I'm missing?).

Chapter Four

When Liam woke up the next morning, the sun was slitting through the open curtains, offensively blinding. His mouth was dry, his eyes sensitive to the light—but he’d had worse mornings. Much worse. At least he could remember everything that had happened the night before. The graffiti-esque artwork, shots at the party, Louis on his lap. Then Harry. Harry snapping at him in front of an audience. The look of disgust he saw on Louis’ face—which he knew had to have been mirrored on Louis’ best friend—on Zayn. He was glad he didn’t have to see that look in Zayn’s eyes. After that, fighting those guys who had been fucking with Harry. And then later, Zayn, looking helpless and young, as he scooped him up into his arms.

The couch was empty. Beside him, a long figure stretched out, mumbling incoherently through sleep. Curls brushing against his arm.

Liam got up to pee. As he flushed the toilet, he heard the pool house door bang open.

“Thank god!” said Mrs. Styles, who stood in the doorway, looking a bit frantic, her shoulders hinting at relief. “Where have you two been all night?”

Harry rolled over, curls sticking up every which way as he propped himself up against the headboard. “Here.” Liam could see a red mark below Harry’s eye, clearly the result of a punch. That part Liam didn’t remember happening.

“Were you two in a fight?”

“I think so,” Harry answered sheepishly.

“About what, with who?” Anne interrogated.

“That part, I don’t remember,” Harry said. “I was drunk.” He shook his head, as if trying to clear away the fogginess of sleep. “I think I may still be drunk.”

“Liam, Harry,” Anne started, then seemed to change her mind, heading out the door mid-sentence.

The door shut behind her, and Harry collapsed back onto the mattress. Liam slid his eyes sideways towards him.

“Umm, what was that?”

“She’ll be back,” Harry’s voice was muffled, his face buried against the fluffy down pillow. “She does this. She’s off to talk to my dad. Then they will come back. My dad will look all grave and intimidating. Some words of advice from him, a minor scolding from her, then we’ll be on our way.”

It sounded so…rational. Liam was used to being screamed at when he did something wrong. Or having his mother chase him around the small house with a spatula—though she never actually laid a finger on him. His mother may have had a lot of faults—but that wasn’t one of them. She was all about the empty threats.

“And can I just say,” Harry added, holding up his pointer finger, “tequila and I are not friends.”

\- - -

Zayn had woken up with one wicked headache, everything pounding behind his eyes. When he opened them, he saw spots. His mouth was bone dry, his lips sticking together from the lack of moisture. He’d been disoriented, and it had taken him a minute for him to catch up with everything. The night before was foggy, disjointed moments that didn’t make sense, the plot holes gaping.

When he looked across the strange room he was in and saw Harry Styles and mystery boy Liam passed out together on the bed, he knew he had to get out of there immediately. He wasn’t clear on how he’d gotten there. Zayn had moved slowly, but efficiently, putting all his effort into being as stealth as possible.

He’d slipped out onto the Styles’ pool deck, just as the sun was coming up.

Now, he was just waking up again, this time in his own bed, many hours later. His phone vibrated spastically on his nightstand.

“‘Ello?”

“Z, great. See, I knew he was fine,” Louis’ animated voice came through the phone. The last statement had seemed to be directed at someone on the other side. “Jesy was worried someone might have kidnapped you. You know, gotten through the security at the gatehouse to your neighborhood and then hauled your deadweight ass into their car and drove off.”

“Well, they do let you through, so who’s to say.”

“Ha. Please.”

“Did you fuckers leave me on the doorstep again?”

Pause.

“Technically, yes. But it was your own fault! You had no keys, and we figured it was better than facing your parents. And clearly you are fine, so it all worked out.”

“Right.”

Zayn loved Louis in the way he imagined he would love a brother. He’d always wanted one. He loved his sisters, but it wasn’t the same. As it was, Louis was the closest thing he had to a brother. But, at times, he could be so immature. Even though he was nearly a full year older than Zayn. It was utterly infuriating.

“Any who, we need to talk about upcoming festivities. Should I put Jesy on speaker?”

“Go ahead,” Zayn mumbled.

“Hey Z. Glad you’re not dead.”

“Yeah, me too,” he grumbled.

“We have the golf invitational coming up at the club. Team Malikson will reign again, I assume?”

Zayn inhaled through his teeth, making a hissing sound. “Yeah, about that. I’d been meaning to tell you. Pezza wanted to play in the couples division this year. So, yeah, as it is you’ll have to find someone else to play with. Sorry, Lou.”

“I am going to have to have a strongly worded conversation with her. She knows that I was here first.” Louis said it like a joke, but Zayn could hear a hint of betrayal behind his words.

“I’m sorry, Lou, really.”

“It’s cool. Jesy, want to enter the couples tourney together?”

“Sorry love, I already have a partner.”

“‘Course you do. I guess I’ll just have to throw my name into the hat this year, and hope I end up with an okay partner.”

“It’ll be fine, Lou, don’t worry,” Jesy reassure him. “Besides, we also have TJ coming up, which is so much more important.”

“Ah yes, the lovely Tijuana, home to tequila, and terrible mistakes,” over the speaker, Zayn could hear Louis rubbing his hands together, conspiratorially, like an evil villain in a terribly cheesy movie. “My favorite combination. You aren’t going to leave me out to dry on this one too, are you?”

“Of course not. I’ll be there,” he reassured.

\- - -

Liam left the pool house after showering, to find Mrs. Styles’ so he could apologize. She’d been kind enough to allow him into her home—he wanted to reassure her that she didn’t make a mistake.

“Harry got into a fight last night.” It was Anne Styles’ voice, from somewhere out of sight.

“He did?” This from Alberto.

“Yes, with Liam.”

“Did they win?”

Huffy sigh. “Alberto, I have no idea, and honestly, it does not matter. What does matter is that our son is suddenly getting in fights, staying out all night, coming home drunk—“

“Harry was drunk?” Alberto chuckled.

“Stop. It’s this boy you’ve let into our house, let influence our son.”

“If Harry is really that impressionable, I think we have bigger issues at hand.”

“I don’t want him hanging around a criminal.”

“Liam is not a criminal. He’s just a boy who got in a bad situation. And honestly, I’d rather Harry hang out with him than a bunch of trust fund babies.”

Liam walked away then, back towards the pool house. He looked over at Zayn’s house. He probably would never see him again.

It was back to Chino for him. Back to his mother, with the ice clinking in her glass. With each year that passed, the clinking seemed to start earlier and earlier in the day—weekends, and weekdays. It would be worse without Ed there. Even when things were at their worst, Ed could always make him laugh. And he always defended Liam against their mother, and her revolving door of boyfriends—each more vile than the last. Now it would just be the two of them. The thought of returning to that house made his head hang, heavier than he remembered it ever being before.

\- - -

When Harry woke up for the second time that day, it was to tapping on his bedroom door. At some point, in his hungover state, he had relocated to his own bed. His blue striped duvet was tangled around his torso, and all but one of his pillows had somehow ended up on the floor.

Liam came in, looking far more put together than he had any right to be, considering the shots Harry had seen him take last night. True, he was just wearing jeans and a wife-beater, with what looked like a bandana hanging out of his back pocket, but he looked alert, his hair washed and combed back, barely a hint of bag beneath his brown eyes.

It wasn’t fair. Harry felt more miserable than he remembered feeling since…ever possibly. Or at least since the last time he’d had the flu. He thought about how his mother would baby him when he was sick, wait on him hand and foot. Chicken soup, popsicle, a cool cloth pressed to his forehead. All of that sounded so soothing right now. Of course, it was impossible. His mother had seemed far from sympathetic about his hangover.

“Hey man, so it looks like I’ll be headed home soon.”

Harry sat up, quickly enough that he saw stars and his vision went black for a moment. His head felt dizzy. “You can’t go. You just got here.”

“Nah, I have a home back in Chino. I appreciate everything your family has done for me, but I have to get back to my real life.”

Harry had a feeling that his mother was actually kicking Liam out. Liam was just too polite to talk badly about her.

“Sure. Well, its fine. You can come out here, we can go out on Lou.”

Liam raised his eyebrows, teasing.

“The _boat_.” Harry clarified.

“Sure, sure.”

“And then I can come to Chino, you can show me around the ‘hood.”

Liam laughed, but it was a weak one. “Yeah. Sounds good, man.”

“So…” Harry stood up awkwardly. He wasn’t ready to say goodbye. But he didn’t want to miss his chance. Goodbye’s had always held a lot of weight for him. Harry had never believed in Irish goodbyes. If you got the chance to say a proper goodbye to someone, then you had to take it. Too often in life, you never knew the last time was the last time. “I guess this is…” he didn’t finish, instead wrapping both arms around Liam’s middle in an engulfing hug.

Liam, to his credit, hugged back.

After a moment, they both stepped back.

“Wait,” Harry said, as he scrambled for his desk, carefully searching through the top drawer. He closed his fingers around the map, which had been folded and refolded many times over, it’s creases deep and enduring. He handed it to Liam, who was still waiting by the door. “I thought you could use this. It’s good for ideas.”

It was his map of the Pacific Ocean. On it, he had charted the route he would take to Tahiti.

Liam nodded his head in gratitude.

“I’ll see you later, Harry,” Liam said, as he stepped out the door, duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

\- - -

Liam hadn’t agreed to future plans with Harry, because, as he’d told Alberto back in the holding cell, he didn’t like to commit. It had been fun hanging out with Harry for a weekend, but Liam wasn’t one for optimism. He knew they came from two different worlds. He knew keeping up a friendship would never work. Wasn’t even worth pretending for a bit, just to watch it fall apart down the road.

He loaded his bike back into the trunk of Alberto’s BMW, and climbed into the passenger seat. Alberto was already in the car, waiting for him.

It was quiet as they pulled out of the gated community, headed back to the grit of Chino, and the farmland that lay just beyond it. The engine purred, barely noticeable it was so smooth. The a/c blew steadily out the oscillating vents, part of the whole “climate control” system. The interior of the car was perfectly comfortable.

“Listen, Liam,” Alberto said at last. “I just, I wanted to let you know that this is nothing against you. Anne just—she doesn’t take well to change. Having a teenager suddenly living in her home—it was just too much for her. You’re a good kid, and we both know that.”

Bullshit. Liam had heard them talking. Mrs. Styles’ looked at him like he was a hardened criminal, come to steal her jewelry and corrupt her innocent son.

Alberto had been so understanding, and kind to him. Just chill and down to earth in the short time he had known him. Harry too. He had been welcoming, not quick to judge. Maybe a bit neurotic, but then who wouldn’t be, growing up in a society like this—around people like that. Anne, from his limited interactions with her, had been closed off, hesitant and uptight. How had she and Alberto ended up together? Maybe it had been a phase in her life, that she was now questioning, but she was too far in to act on.

“Thanks,” he mumbled in a way that was so stereotypically _teenage boy_ , even he had to cringe.

They were pulling onto the Payne’s street, to the ramshackle bungalow with the unattached gutter, mildewed siding, and torn screen door.

“Thanks, for everything,” Liam said, flashing a grateful smile as he stepped out of the car and into the still warm late evening sun. It cast an orangish-gold glow on the world around him—the world Liam knew. This, right here, with the chain-link fences, the broken mufflers and barking dogs, was where he belonged. For better or worse.

“It was my pleasure Liam, really. So I’ll see you at your hearing in two weeks.”

Liam nodded and closed the door to the car with a rough push of his hand, using the momentum to propel himself towards the broken house. Where he belonged. He knew this was his place in the world, this was his life. And yet. And yet it felt wrong, as he wheeled his bike over the cracked cement walkway, with the grass and weeds pushing up through the fractured sections. He wanted to go out on the boat with Harry. To listen to him wax poetic about Louis’ ankles (apparently, they were perfect—Liam hadn’t gotten a look at them, and now, he supposed he never would).

The door was unlocked, which was typical. There wasn’t anything inside worth stealing. He leaned his bike against the side of the house, then readied himself to grovel at his mother’s feet. It was his only choice.

“Mom,” he called, a bit timidly, as he walked into the short hallway, not bothering to kick off his shoes. The house was oddly quiet. Usually the air was polluted with noise—the TV, a fan running, shouting, his mom’s hair dryer—it was always something. But not today. As he walked further into the house, he realized why. There was nothing there to make noise. The house was bare bones empty, cleared of everything, not even a stray hanger in the closet or a forgotten box of Arm and Hammer in the fridge.

She’d left. He had been gone two days, and she had up and left him. Well, them, really, once Ed was out. Liam had no idea how long that would be. It could be months, it could be tomorrow. He’d have to talk to Alberto about that.

As if called upon by thought, Liam heard a throat clear behind him. Alberto. He hadn’t left yet.

“Get your bike, kid,” he said, his eyes soft. Liam hated that look. It was too reminiscent of pity. “You’re coming back with me.”

“But,” Liam began to protest, even though he had nowhere else to go. If he had, he wouldn’t have ever called Mr. Styles’ in the first place.

“Just get in the car,” he said, not unkindly. “Like I said before—you could do a lot worse.”

\- - -

Harry was sitting at the end of a lounge chair on the pool deck, using a clean cloth to dust the sand from the night before off his boots. He used gentle strokes, though he had all of this energy built up inside him—needing an outlet. Just when he finally found someone cool to hangout with—someone who didn’t seem to mind being around him—Liam leaves. He couldn’t catch a break.

The grains of sand fell into a pile at his feet, but his boots looked mostly fine, save one scratch on the side of the left one.

This school year was going to be just as miserable as the last one, another year of his sentence. That’s what Harbor High felt like to him—a place to bide his time, pay his dues to society until he was allowed to enter the real world.

He would spend his lunch hours in the library, doing his homework and snacking on pretzel sticks and carrots. Alone. He’d keep his head ducked low, hair hanging, shoulders slumped—to make himself see small. The less attention drawn to him, the better. He would watch Louis from a distance, lighting up every room he entered. Louis was one of those people who showed every emotion, every reaction, and so many thoughts, right on his face. In the way his mouth quirked, his eyes crinkled and his brows arched. He was so expressive, it made you feel as if you knew him. His facial expressions made you feel like you, too, were in on the joke. Even when you didn’t know what the joke had been in the first place.

Harry leaned back, the one clean boot clutched in his hand. His head rested on the lounge chair, his curls acting as a pillow. Eyes closed, he took a series of slow, even breaths. It would be fine. He would be fine; he’d lived this way, this life, for sixteen years—he would carry on. He was a Styles, after all.

“You’re going to have to show me where I can get some boots like that—I don’t think my Pumas are really cutting it around here.”

Harry shot up, and his boot feel to the cement from the force of motion. There was Liam. Wearing his god-awful wife-beater and jeans, beat up black pumas that had faded to grey with age.

“What are you doing here?”

“Had to come back,” Liam said, his lips quirked. “I was experiencing massive separation anxiety from your curly head.”

Harry felt relief wash over him. Maybe things would be different this year. The sun was setting, somewhere beyond the backyard, blocked by the mansions that littered their neighborhood. The shadows around were long and lean, like Harry himself. He was afraid to ask any questions, afraid to ruin this lovely moment—the calm before the storm, as it might be.

“Harry, Liam, dinner!” Anne’s voice traveled out the open kitchen window, reaching the boys on the pool deck.

They walked slowly, their strides matching unintentionally. The house smelled lovely, baked chicken and new potatoes roasted in olive oil, garlic and rosemary. The dining room table was set, which was Harry’s first clue something was up—they usually ate dinner sitting at the kitchen island, with the television playing in the background.

Tonight, though, the china with the little blue flowers was set on top of cream placemats. The lights were dimmer slightly, so the room had a softer feel to it. Liam had not been back that long. His parents must have had a talk before they’d arrived back from Chino.

They took their seats, his dad at one head, with his mother at the opposite and Harry and Liam on either side. Food started being passed, but the room was oddly quiet. Harry didn’t like it.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m actually looking forward to the golf invitational at the club,” Harry offered up.

His dad paused, fork full of potatoes halfway to his mouth. “Harry, see, I knew those lessons were helping. Golf is really a game you can’t properly appreciate until you get older—it looks like you are there now.” Alberto was positively beaming.

“You two Styles’ boys—I don’t know what to do with you. I’ll always agree with Mark Twain on this one—golf is a good walk spoiled.”

“Mom, don’t ruin this for me—golf is one of the few socially acceptable activities around here that I can actually do. Soccer—nope,I trip over my own two feet. Water polo—nope, no hand-eye coordination. Swimming—that’s a funny joke. I like to float, moving through the water, not so much. But golf, golf I can do. Slow paced, stationary target. Small talk with old men,” he looked over at his dad, “it’s basically like every other day of my life.”

“Hey,” Alberto protested, “I take offense at that. I am not an old man. Not yet.”

“Al, I think Harry may have you there,” Anne said with a smile.

He held his hands dramatically to his chest. “Between the two of you, this is not even—you tagging up on me. I’m glad that I’ll have Liam here to back me up for the foreseeable future.”

At that, Liam’s head snapped up at break-neck speed. “Sorry, what?”

Harry’s parents exchanged a look. His dad raised his eyebrows and nodded his head towards Anne.

Anne cleared her throat and took a sip of ice water from the tall, sweating glass before she began. “Well, Liam. Alberto and I have talked about it, and if you are agreeable to the idea, we were thinking you could stay here for the time being. Of course, Al is going to do everything he can to locate your mother, but this way, you’ll have a safe place to stay, and that’s one less thing you have to worry about.”

“Mr. and Mrs. Styles,” Liam said, after he had a moment to process. “I appreciate everything that you’ve done for me, really, I do. But I can’t ask you to do that.”

“You’re not asking, Liam. We’re offering,” Harry’s dad said simply.

Harry waited, staring at Liam expectantly. He wanted him to say yes so terribly, that if he refused, Harry was worried he might just burst into tears right there at the dinner table. He wasn’t sure what this would mean once the school year started, but even just getting a few more weeks with Liam felt like a blessing.

“Of course, if you really do want me, and I won’t be a burden, than I’d love to stay with you guys.”

“Yes!” Harry burst out, fist pumped in victory. The whole table turned to stare at him. He slowly lowered his arm, face flushed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm planning to update again sometime next week (I know its probably annoying that I don't update on a set date from week to week, but I work in retail, so my days off and hours are screwy). 
> 
> Thanks again to everyone who has commented/kudos-you have no idea how much your comments mean (unless you too are a writer, in which case you know exactly how much it means). 
> 
> Feedback of any sort is always so very appreciated (good, bad, or meh).
> 
> If you want to chat about this, Larry, Niall as a caddy, Louis' ass, cats, ice cream, the meaning of life, or anything else, you can find me on tumblr as Alltoowellmoments.


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

A few days later, Liam was in the pool house, organizing the new clothes Anne had bought for him. He had felt uncomfortable taking them from her—she’d already given him so much, but she had been insistent. There was no closet in the pool house, as it wasn’t meant for someone to live in. Liam made do with a spare laundry basket, folding the shirts, shorts, and pants neatly.

There was a knock at the door

“Come in,” he said, not bothering to look up. He didn’t understand why Harry wasn’t comfortable enough to just walk right in. It was his house, after all. Liam was the guest in this situation.

The door closed into place behind him, sealing the sound of gentle wind and seagulls calling outside.

“Haz,” Liam said, still focused on his clothes. “I was thinking we could go swimming in a bit. I know you say you don’t swim, you only float, but that counts too.”

“Actually, I just flat sink,” It wasn’t Harry’s voice that answered, not his sluggish rambling. It was more polished than that, softer. Zayn.

He was leaning against the wall beside the door, wearing loafers, no socks, a black t-shirt and lacrosse shorts. He had slight stubble, his hair un-styled, hanging loose and shaggy.

Liam stopped folding his new clothes, he shifted, so he was taller on his knees, able to see Zayn better over the laundry basket. “What are you doing here?”

“I heard you were going to be sticking around here for a bit. Thought I’d say welcome. And, also, thank you for not leaving me on my driveway the other night. My dad would have flipped if he’d woken up to that. Not what I need right now, if I’m being honest.”

“It was nothing really. Just being a neighbor,” Liam smiled, and it felt forced. His lips twitched slightly, uncomfortable. Liam actually didn’t know anything about being a good neighbor. Back in Chino, he had never talked to their neighbors. Didn’t know a thing about them, besides their taste in beer, from when he and Ed would snag a case of beer from their open garages. Two doors to the left liked Corona. Kitty-corner stuck to IPAs, mostly from independent breweries. Right next door always went for the piss-cheap beer—Natty Light, and PBR. The IPA house was Liam’s personal favorite, but they only left their garage unlocked occasionally. When it was locked, when Ed was still younger, they would skip it. In recent years, Ed would just pick the lock. He’d gotten pretty good at it. Liam wasn’t as good, not as quick, but he could do it in a pinch.

“Either way, I appreciate it, man,” Zayn said, rubbing his eye with one finger. “We should hang out sometime.”

“Yeah?” Liam asked, surprised, because from what Harry had said, Zayn had barely ever spoken to him, even though they’d lived next-door to each other their entire lives.

“Sure, bring along Harry too, if you think he’d like it.”

Liam thought for a moment. This could be good for Harry. Socialize with someone who wasn’t Liam. Maybe make things easier for when school started in a few weeks. Harry had made it blatantly clear that school was tough for him. When he wasn’t being bullied, he was ignored, like furniture, Harry had said. And not even a nice end table which occasionally got some love—more like a tall plant that sat in the corner, behind a chair, collecting dust. That was how Harry saw himself. How his classmates treated him. He deserved better than that. Maybe Liam could help him with it.

“He’d be down. Bring along your friend, what was his name, Louis?” Liam said casually, trying to play it off. “We could swim, grill out. Maybe go sailing?”

Zayn put his hands out and shook his head. “I told you, I flat sink. I can wade in the water, stay in the shallow end, play pool basketball—but I will not go out on a boat.”

“You would have a life vest on.”

“Doesn’t matter. I still won’t do it,” Zayn insisted.

“Okay,” Liam gave a sharp nod of his head. “No boating.”

Zayn’s phone buzzed in his hand. He glanced at the screen, then glanced back at Liam, his lashes grazing his cheek as he looked down. “I gotta run— gotta go meet the missus. But I’ll talk to Lou, we can figure something out. And I’m sure I’ll see you around before hand.”

With that, Zayn disappeared out the door.

“Bye,” Liam said softly. But Zayn was already gone, off to join Perrie in the Jeep, and to wherever it would take them.

\- - -

The air had cooled considerably. Zayn hugged his jean jacket closer to his body. Overhead, there was a smattering of stars visible, and the sound of the waves rolling into shore echoed in the background.

“You want us to hang out with who?” Louis asked, leaning forward on the log so his hand was on Zayn’s elbow. Some of his drink sloshed out of the plastic solo cup and onto the sand. Zayn could smell the spiciness of the rum.

“Harry Styles and Liam Payne.”

“And who are they again?”

Zayn sighed and glanced over at Louis. His hair was shaggy, bangs brushed to the side. His whole head of brown hair was unbrushed, crazy from the salt water it had accumulated during his swim earlier in the night.

Louis, Ben and some of the other members of the team had done a shotgun relay in the Winston’s pool. It involved chugging a beer before swimming their leg of the race. Safe? No. Entertaining? Yes.

Zayn had been the official, watching from dry land with Perrie, who had sat on his lap, smelling like the bubblegum she snapped between her teeth. She played with his hair, which had gotten too long. His dad was on his ass about cutting it. Zayn had managed to dodge the conversations so far by being asleep when his father left for work in the morning, and by being out when he came home at night. Mr. Malik was always asleep by the time his only son got home, in the early hours of the morning.

“You know, Harry Styles, my neighbor. And Liam Payne you met the other night, after the gallery showing.”

Louis scrunched his mouth up, as if he was thinking hard. “Nope. Doesn’t ring a bell.”

Zayn cleared his throat. “Baby Boston,” he said flatly.

Recognition flashed in his eyes immediately. Pretty quick reaction time for someone who had as much to drink as Lou had. “Right, soulful brown eyes, bad boy swag. Fucking gorgeous.” His face turned hard, a tinge of bitterness. “Maybe if he had given me the time of day, I wouldn’t have had to go home with Jesy.”

Zayn whipped his head back in Louis’ direction. He narrowed his eyes. Had he heard him correctly? It was hard to tell with the girls chattering loudly, and James strumming on his guitar, singing, of all things, show tunes. If it had been anyone else, Ben would have teased them mercilessly, maybe played a game of monkey in the middle with the guitar. But because it was James Cordon, he got away with it. He had been Ben’s right hand man since birth.

“You’re not saying what I think you’re saying right now,” Zayn tested, leaning closer so Lou could hear him clearly.

Louis shrugged. “Sure. I slept with Jesy Nelson. So sue me.”

“Tommo, you dumbfuck,” he said, slapping the side of Louis’ head with the back of his hand.

“Owwww,” Louis wailed dramatically, rubbing the spot where he’d been hit. Zayn rolled his eyes. It had not hurt that badly. He would never really hurt Lou, no matter how much of an idiot he was acting. “What was that for?”

“You know exactly what that was for. I can’t believe you’d sleep with Jesy.”

Louis leveled him with a look. “Really, Zayn? Really, you can’t believe it?”

“Well, I can,” Zayn amended. “But I don’t want to believe it. That’s Perrie’s best friend, man.”

“And I’m your best friend. Why don’t you go smack her around for violating me? I need someone to defend my honor.”

Zayn laughed, in-spite of himself. “Please, Lou. Though I suppose you are right about needing someone to defend your honor. You sure as hell are doing a shit job of it.”

Louis flung his arm around Zayn’s neck, pulling him closer. “This is why I need you, Z. You’ll make an honest woman out of me yet. Break me of my trollop ways.”

They both laughed. “Bit late for that, isn’t it?”

“Never too late to make a fresh start. No time like the present and such,” Louis said with a wink, the light from the bonfire catching in his blue eyes. He leaned closer, so his mouth was hovering over Zayn’s ear. “It’s about time for you and Pezza to get on with it, don’t you think? Now that your best friends have banged, and you two are still clutching you v-cards?”

Zayn pushed Louis off of him. “We’ll get to that when we are both ready.”

“And when will that be? Same day I finally come out of the closet?”

Louis said that he was gay, though in practice, he was very fluid with his sexuality. He said it was just because he had a hard time finding guys to mess around with because, and this was a quote, “The people in Newport have a sticks shoved so far up their asses, nothing else can get up there.” Typical Louis. Zayn laughed internally at the memory.

“You are barely in the closet right now, Lou.”

Louis tilted his head from side to side. “Well, its more like a glass closet. I’m not out, but people can see in. You know? Soon as my mom kicks Mark out, or I go off to college, I’m breaking down that door. Whichever comes first.”

“Your parents still having problems?”

“You mean Mark and my mom?” Louis clarified.

Zayn sometimes forgot Mark wasn’t Lou’s real dad. Louis’ birth dad had never really been around. Johannah had given him the option of joint custody, but he had turned it down. Louis could count the times he’d spent with his real dad on one hand. Louis had been young enough when his mom married Mark, that he’d taken on his last name, Tomlinson. Mark wasn’t a bad guy—just sort of raciest, and homophobic. Which, admittedly, were not good traits, but Mark wasn’t all bad. Because of him, though, Louis was scared straight about coming out.

“Right, your mom and Mark.”

“They fight constantly. I don’t know how they are still together. I can’t stand to be around them at the same time. They have to feel the same way I’d think. The fighting, bickering, it has to get old after awhile, no matter how good the makeup sex might be.”

Zayn balked at that. Thinking of his parents having sex was the very last thing he ever wanted to think about. He preferred to think he’d been born by way of immaculate conception, or that he had been a test tube baby. Neither of which were true as far as he knew.

“Jesus, do you really think about that?”

Louis shrugged, “I mean, it crosses my mind sometimes.”

“Well, keep that shit in your own head. Not a visual I want to have, thank you very much.”

“Refill?” Louis asked, nudging his empty cup in Zayn’s direction.

Zayn had told himself he was going to ease up on the drinking tonight. He couldn’t become reliant on the kindness of a strange neighbor to rescue him. He’d already had a few drinks, and was feeling it. He looked over at Perrie, who was over with Jesy, James and Ben, listening to James play his music. Perrie danced around, and Ben grabbed her hand, twirling her so her blonde hair fanned out with the motion. He pulled her back in, bending her down into a dip. She laughed her loud, raspy laugh.

“Why the hell not?” he said at last.

“That’s my boy,” Louis said, clapping his hand on Zayn’s shoulder before heading off in search of more alcohol.

\- - -

Harry floated in the pool, his one water-born talent. He could do the dead man’s float along with the best of them. Probably as good as an actual dead man, he thought, oddly pleased with himself. Liam floated on a raft, further towards the deep end of the pool. They had been floating side by side, but Liam had drifted. Which Harry supposed was rather poetic. A drifter in life drifting on the water.

“Hey, Haz. Where’d you go?” Liam called, turning in his floating chair, trying to catch sight of the other boy.

The sound was slightly muffled when it reached Harry’s partially submerged ears, but the backyard was quiet enough that he caught it. He popped his head up, his wet hair falling into his eyes as he did so. He jerked his head back violently, his hair being forced back with the motion. Probably not the smoothest move ever, but it was effective.

“I’m here, Liam,” he called back, paddling his way into the deep end. When he reached the float, he rested his arms and head at the end, near Liam’s feet. Liam moved them over so there was more room.

“I forgot to tell you,” Liam began, squinting against the sun.

Harry made a note to tell his mother to add it to the list of things she needed to get for Liam. How could he live in southern California and not have sunglasses? Aviators would probably suit his face, Harry thought. Mirrored lenses—that would suit his personality, go along with the mysterious bad boy mystique, not being able to see his eyes.

“Zayn wants us all to hang out sometime,” Liam said.

A pause, as Harry’s thoughts came back from sunglass frame styles to what Liam was saying.

“Zayn Malik wants all who to hang out sometime?”

“You know, you, me, him and Louis.”

“Louis,” Harry said flatly. “Louis Tomlinson?”

“I told Zayn you’d be down for it. Said maybe we could go swimming, or out on the boat.”

Harry pushed off the raft and scrambled for the ladder. He heaved his long frame out of the pool and onto the concrete pool deck, where he stood, dripping a puddle of water. “I can’t take Louis Tomlinson out on the boat. Not yet!” Harry’s voice was unusually high, bordering on shrill. “It’s too soon. I haven’t laid enough ground work. And, no offense, but when I pictured the first time I took Lou out on his namesake, Zayn Malik was never part of that vision. And, I love you Liam, but neither were you.”

Liam pushed himself up to a seated position on the raft, and squinted up at Harry on deck, using his hand to shield his brown puppy dog eyes. “I thought you’d be excited,” he said slowly.

“Excited? No. No. No. This is all wrong,” Harry said, as he paced on the deck, widening the puddle with his drips as he walked. “Too much. Too fast. Thank you Liam, I appreciate the sentiment, but I can’t.”

Just the thought of getting Louis out on Blue Lou made his stomach twist in a sour way. The last thing he needed was to get out on the water with Liam, Zayn and Louis, only to puke his guts out in front of them all. Then, any infinitesimal chance he currently had with Louis would be entirely washed out to sea.

Liam, being the smart boy he was, didn’t argue or protest. He said nothing, just closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the raft, returning to a drift. Never had Harry been so happy that his new friend was, at times, a man of few words.

The real reason Harry was flipping out—he was still afraid that Louis didn’t know who he was, and that even if he did, he didn’t give a damn about him.

\- - -

“Liam, Harry, get in here,” Anne called across the backyard, from where she stood in the doorway to the pool house. The two boys were laying on the pool deck—Liam on a deck chair, Harry right on the concrete, which still retained the heat of the day. He was bundled up in a towel to protect him from the evening breeze, just the tips of his curly hair peaking out. The sun was going down, casting everything in a warm, hazy orange glow.

The boys got up reluctantly and shuffled after her.

“Liam, I just wanted to go over what else we need to get for you?” Anne said, as she unpacked diet cokes, water bottles, and diet mountain dews into the pool house fridge. “I didn’t know what kind of pop you preferred, but I like diet coke and Harry likes diet mountain dew. Just let me know what to pick up for you next time.”

“I like both of those. It’s perfect, really. You’ve done so much already.”

Anne turned and smiled at him. “How’s the bed, Liam? Is it comfortable enough?”

Harry launched himself onto it, testing it out for himself. He rolled around on his back until he seemed satisfied. Then he curled into a ball. Liam was beginning to wonder if Harry had been a cat in a former life. Or in all his former lives.

“Seems good to me,” Harry answered for him.

Anne shook her head at the sight of her son messing up the freshly made bed. “Harry, honestly.”

“He needs sunglasses, mom,” was all Harry said in reply.

“Sunglasses, of course. Why didn’t I think of that?”

Liam went over to Anne, taking the case of pop out of her hands. He took over putting the cans away in the fridge. “Honestly, I don’t need anything, Mrs. Styles. You’ve gone above and beyond for me, and I already cannot thank you enough, truly. I have everything I could possibly need.”

“Harry’s right, you do need sunglasses,” she said thoughtfully. “And I bet you don’t have golf clubs.”

“What would I need golf clubs for?”

“For the club tournament, of course.”

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I cannot thank you all enough for your comments and kudos-you are all so lovely! 
> 
> Usually I try to say something pointless about myself here, but I am too drained to come up with anything right now :/. 
> 
> Good news though, Niall comes in the next chapter (spoiler alert, i guess maybe?).
> 
> Ah, right, gratitude. To Flynn, my beta, for his tireless editing, plot line planning and just straight up awesomeness.   
> And to Buddha and Bridg, as always. 
> 
> To chat, you can find me on tumblr as Alltoowellmoments
> 
> Comments of all sorts are so wonderful, they feed my little writer soul. 
> 
> xx,  
>  Until next time


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A massive, massive thank you as always to my beta, Flynn, and to LuLu and Bridget.

Chapter Six

Liam’s experience in golf was limited to a few trips his family had taken to the putt-putt course, before his dad got locked up. And, also swinging at mailboxes with a driver while riding around Chino in the back of a pick-up truck with Ed. Not exactly on par with the experience of the other kids his age playing in the club tournament. But Mrs. Styles had been rather insistent. She had been so kind to him, he couldn’t say no.

And that was how he came to find himself dressed in a red golf shirt— a la Tiger Woods—and a pair of creased navy shorts, waiting to be assigned a partner. He stood beside a spotless new golf bag, containing clubs that had only ever been used to hit a basket of balls at the driving range with Harry the night before.

Liam hadn’t actually been as terrible as he had anticipated—apparently, the mailbox smashing had taught him a thing or two. Of course, that wasn’t something he was going to advertise here at the country club. After Harry’s outburst at the art gallery after-party, people already looked at him as troubled white-trash. He didn’t need to add to that visual.

Because Harry had already signed up for the tournament before Liam came into the picture, they were both entered into the hat where they were randomly assigned a partner. That was what Liam and Harry were doing now. Waiting for their assignments.

“Styles, Harry,” the old woman in charge of assignments called out. She squinted at the paper she held, her bifocals perched on her hawk-like nose.

Next to Liam, Harry perked up, standing straight, as if at attention. Harry fiddled with the buttons on his golf shirt, looking confined by the three buttons.

“And…Tomlinson, Lew-is,” she read out, waiting for the boys to step forward.

“Actually, it’s Louis,” Harry corrected her, approaching with his bag of clubs. His face could barely contain his grin.

Louis shuffled forward, head bent, hair neatly slicked off of his face, the front swirled like he was a 1950’s rock and roll god.

“You two will tee off on the North course,” the woman told them. “Head over there, Don will assign you your time.”

Harry glanced back at Liam as he headed for the door, following behind a very reluctant looking Louis. Harry was still grinning, and he gave a thumbs up. Liam nodded towards him in response, attempting to smile back.

Good for Harry, Liam thought. Maybe this was what he needed, his chance for Louis to get to know him. Even though Liam had seen the indifferent way Louis had acted towards Harry, he felt that Harry was a cool kid. If more people would give him a chance, they would see it too. He was sure of it.

“Payne, Liam,” the old woman called, and Liam snapped back to the present moment. “To be paired with, Horan, Niall.”

Liam was positive he had never heard any of the Styles’ mention that name before. It was unusual enough that he would’ve remembered it.

A boy with messy blonde hair, fair skin, ruddy cheeks and pointy ears stepped forward, joining Liam by the old lady. “You two are on the south course today. Head over there and Alex will give you your tee-time.”

Liam nodded at her, then headed for the doors. The blonde boy followed behind him, looking a bit like an eager puppy.

“I’m Liam,” he said, offering his hand to his newly assigned partner once they were outside, under the bright sun and clear blue sky.

“Niall Horan,” the boy said, giving Liam’s and a few healthy pumps. He had a bit of an accent, which Liam couldn’t place off just two words. “Nice ’t meet ya.”

British, maybe? Or, Scottish.

“Just moved here from Mullingar, Ireland. I’m staying with me great-aunt Mil, until me dad gets over here. He’s doing a bit of traveling for work—mostly in Asia for the moment. But in the spring, he’s going to be settled here, for work, and then I’ll move out of Aunt Mil’s and in with him. Haven’t golfed since last fall, so ‘m probably going to be rusty. Hope I don’t drag you down too much, mate.”

Liam opened his mouth to tell Niall not to worry about dragging him down, because if anything, Liam would probably be the one hindering their pair. But he didn’t get the chance.

“Going to Harbor High in September. I’ll be a junior this term. I haven’t seen much of Newport yet, other than my Aunt Mil’s house and the beach, but I hear the girls here are right fit. Figure finding a girl to hang out with would be a good way to start off here.”

To Liam, that sounded like the absolute worst way to start out in a new place. Not that he had much experience starting new—until just recently, Chino had been the only place he’d spent any real amount of time. But from past experience, he knew that relying on a relationship to fix anything was not a good idea.

“Yeah, I don’t really know about that. I’m actually new here too,” Liam had been a bit reluctant to admit that. But since this kid had just spilled his life story to him, with seemingly no qualms, Liam felt compelled to give this open boy, with kind blue eyes, a sliver of himself.

“Yeah, where from?”

“California still, just sort of north-east of here.”

Niall paused, turning to search Liam’s face as they made their way to the 1st hole of the south course. Liam actually had no idea where that was, so hopefully his partner did.

“Are you the guy from Chino?”

Long pause. Niall stopped mid stride, waiting for Liam to answer.

“…Yeah, that’s me.”

Niall laughed a full laugh. But it wasn’t a mean one. “My Aunt Mil told me about you. She was completely scandalized that a “good family” like the Styles would bring a common thief into their home.”

Liam stayed mum.

Niall clapped him on the back. “I have a good eye for character, and that’s not just me talking. I have it on good authority from many individuals back in mi-Mullingar. And I have a good feeling about you, no matter what anyone else might say. You’re good people, Liam Payne.”

This was all very…odd. He had said exactly 25 words to this boy. Already, he was talking a mile a minute, and acting like he had known Liam more than ten minutes.

“Thanks?” he said, but it came out more of a question.

“I’m sorry that I called you a thief. It wasn’t me talking, just Aunt Mil, you know.”

“It’s okay, you can call me a thief,” Liam said with a laugh.

“Well, now that we’ve agreed on that, let’s talk handicaps. I’m a 12. How ‘bout you?”

“Ummm, I don’t think I have one.” Liam bit his lip sheepishly and ducked his head, not wanting to catch the judging and disappointed look on Niall.

But when he looked up, he was met with a warm smile and a chuckle. “No worries, man. We’ll just go out and have fun. Get to know each other, since we are both the new kids on the block. It’ll be great.”

Liam was relieved. He had been worried he’d be paired up with someone like Ben Winston, who, from Liam’s initial impression of him, and what Harry had to say, seemed like a complete dickhead. Or else with someone who took this whole thing very seriously. Niall seemed to be neither of those things.

Liam could’ve sworn, though, that Niall’s accent sounded more Scottish than Irish. He was probably just mistaken—it wasn’t like he had known many—or any—Irishman in Chino.

\- - -

Harry turned around as he left the clubhouse, exchanging one last look with Liam. He tried to conceal his smile, but it was impossible. Things couldn’t have worked out better if he had planned it himself. Actually, knowing his luck, if he had tried to plan this, it would have been a mess. This way was much better.

Liam returned the smile. He looked pretty ridiculous, with his hair neatly combed, an adidas baseball cap on his head, the bill bent into a curve. He was dressed in appropriate golf clothes, but he still had a bandana hanging out his back pocket—white this time.

Harry followed Louis’ small frame out the door and onto the grounds, where tall, hulking trees arched over head. The blue sky was so vibrant, and the lawns and greens all around were so unnaturally green, it hurt Harry’s eyes. It was like being in one of those technicolor movies, where all the color was slightly off, in a way you just couldn’t put your finger on.

Louis looked bored as he slipped his sunglasses—gold framed Ray-Ban aviators. He barely even glanced in Harry’s direction. Harry watched as he walked away, his strides even, slightly swaying, as his toned, tanned calves worked. The spikes on his scuffed black golf shoes sunk into the short, manicured grass as he cut across it.

He turned around, having realized his partner hadn’t followed him. “You coming, Curly, or are you just going to stay there all day with your mouth hanging open?”

Curly. Harry liked the sound of it. He probably would have preferred to hear him say his name, but he was endeared to the sound of the nickname, regardless of what Louis may have intended with it.

Harry scrambled to catch up with Louis, who was halfway up a hill now. The clubs in his bag clicked every few steps, as his bag bounced against the back of his legs. It didn’t take long to reach him, since Harry’s legs had quite a few inches on Lou’s.

“You want a caddy or cart?”

“Cart,” Harry answered quickly. He never used a caddy. It always made him feel guilty, having someone else carry his bag when he was perfectly capable of carrying the bag himself. Whenever he did that, though, his back would give him hell the next day for it. So cart it was. “I mean, if that’s okay with you,” he went on. “If you’d rather get caddies, we can do that. It’s up to you really. I’m okay with whichever you want. And actually, there is something nice about walking, connecting more with the game and the course. But, carts are great too. They have cup holders, and the little holes for the golf pencils so they don’t get lost. And they also give shade which is nice in the heat. Both are good options really.”

Louis stopped walking and turned to face Harry. “Calm down, Curly. A cart is fine. As long as I’m the one driving it.” Louis smirked.

“Of course you can drive,” Harry nodded eagerly. “I like being a passenger anyway.”

“Hmm,” Louis hummed, as he turned back and resumed walking.

Harry silently cursed himself for being such an awkward, stuttering mess. Louis was just a boy. He was just as flawed as the rest. He wasn’t better than him. He shouldn’t have such a hold over Harry.

He almost had himself convinced, until he caught sight of Louis’ ankles. It seemed to Harry that when it came to Louis Tomlinson, he had many weaknesses. But the boy’s ankles were definitely on the top of that list. They were dainty and tan, with a prominent bone. Dainty, but strong. Like Louis, or so Harry liked to think. If a person could be embodied by just one part of their shell, Louis would be his ankles. Harry liked to believe that you could tell a man by his ankles.

“Curly, hurry your ass up!” Louis called, from the top of the hill, his eyes obscured by sunglass. Which was probably for the best. If Harry saw those baby blues (though really, if Harry was being honest, they weren’t always baby blue or even just blue. But that was for another time.) he would probably have failed to function properly.

Harry jogged to reach him, his bag banging against the back of his knees.

“You any good at this?” Louis asked, as Harry took half steps to match Louis’ strides.

“I’m okay,” Harry said, not wanting to brag about himself.

Louis exhaled a huffy breath, clearly not satisfied with this. Harry wasn’t sure how to satisfy him, but he was eager to find out.

\- - -

Niall had told Liam that his game would be rusty. If this was rusty, Liam had to see what this kid was like when he was on. Ten holes in, and he had shot under or at par for all but one of the holes, when he hit into a hazard.

Liam could get the ball down the fairway just fine—it was the putting he had trouble with. It had taken him 4 tries on the green to get it in on the fifth hole. Niall had laughed it off and offered Liam a sip of his beer (apparently, they didn’t card at the country club, since the Irish lad barely passed for sixteen).

“Aye, mate, I’m gonna get a light treat from the stand—you want anything?” Niall asked, as Liam returned his putter to his bag.

“I would take a Gatorade,” Liam said. He patted his pockets, trying to remember which one he had stored his wallet in. His sweaty hands slipped on the worn leather.

“Yer money’s no good here, Payno,” Niall said, walking off without taking the folded singles.

Liam sighed audibly, though there was no one around to hear. He wished everyone would stop paying for him, strange as it might seem. Back in Chino, everyone paid for their own shit, paid their own way. Or, as was sometimes the case, didn’t pay at all. Some of the guys Ed had hung around had been stingy-assed fuckers, but they would have never asked for someone to spot them. They were too proud. Plus, no one back home had money to spare. In Newport, it felt like someone was always jumping at the chance to loan, or gift. He just didn’t understand; it went so against his up bringing.

Liam slid into the drivers seat and drove the cart to the snack shack, where he waited in front of the entrance for Niall. It was a small, squat brown building with a thatched roof, with three doors—a mens’ room door, a women's room and the main entrance. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat inside his head. On the tree to his left, two squirrels played a game of tag, playfully tearing their way up the tree.

It really was pretty here, he had to admit that. There was ivy creeping up the brick building, green and lush, its tendrils reaching up towards the pure blue sky,giving the whole club a worn-in look. The grass, which seemed to cover everything, was so green, that Liam felt green wasn’t an accurate term to describe it. It disturbed him though, the amount of chemicals and water it must have taken to maintain it. Wasn’t California supposed to be in a drought? Was it even legal? Liam’s brother was holed up in a cell somewhere, for stealing a Ford Taurus. And Ed had been wrong in what he did—Liam knew that at the time, and understood it even better now. But here, these people were using up a precious resource to maintain their golf courses—who was going to do the time for that?

Liam’s thoughts were interrupted by Niall’s emergence from the hut. He had Liam’s Gatorade (original lemon lime flavor), along with a beer, a bag of chips, two hot dogs, and a pack of Reese’s cups. Hadn’t he said he wanted a light snack? Liam had figured he’d get like a coke and a bag of pretzels. Apparently not.

“Got your Gatorade, Li,” Niall said, as he reached the cart and attempted to organize his purchases.

“Thanks, man.”

Niall put the drinks in the cup holders, and kept all the food on his lap. He ripped open the Reese’s and popped them both in his mouth, one after another. “Have to eat ‘em first, otherwise they’ll melt,” he explained, through a full mouth. As Liam pushed the gas peddle, he could smell peanut butter and chocolate on Niall’s breath.

By the time they had reached the next hole, Niall had downed a hot dog and a half. This kid was unbelievable. There was a pair in front of them, just teeing off, so the boys stayed in the cart, a fair distance away, so as not to disturb the other golfers.

“Have you been golfing for a long time?” Liam asked, looking over at Niall, who was polishing off the last of the hot dog. He had ketchup in the corners of his mouth.

“Since I was seven. That’s how old you had to be to start junior golf at our club. I wish I’d been allowed to start sooner. But yeah, I’ve been around it my whole life. Back home, I was a caddy.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Caddying? I guess. It was fun and I always got free food out of it. Who doesn’t like free food? I even got to caddy at the Masters a few years ago, down in Georgia, it’s this big deal golf tournament for the pros.”

“I know what the Masters is. Green coat.”

“Right, sorry, mate. Wasn’t sure what you were familiar with or not.”

“Its cool. You must’ve been pretty good to get that gig, no?”

Niall shrugged as he opened the bag of potato chips with a pop. “Nah, my uncle is friends with the groundskeeper at Augusta National. That’s how I got in. I was actually quite shit. I kept slipping and falling on the pine needles,” he chuckled at the memory. “Had stains all over the white jumpsuit they had me wear. The guys was really nice to me, let me hit a shot and everything. Which I completely fucked—ball ended up in the water.”

The tips of the boy’s ears were red, from the recalled embarrassment, but he laughed good-heartedly along with Liam.

“Looks like we’re up, mate,” Niall said, as he claimed out of the cart to grab his driver. There was still something odd about the way he talked, and Liam just couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe it was a speech impediment that was making everything sound slightly off? He just couldn’t place what it was. This was going to bug him.

\- - -

Walking back from the bag drop, Harry was ecstatic. He had played great (three under par), and he had spent an entire couple hours with Louis. This was progress like he had only dreamed of. Louis had even laughed at a few of his jokes, and he was pretty sure he was laughing with Harry, not at him. Harry skipped up the stairs into the clubhouse, to find Louis. Maybe they’d have lunch together in the grill. Maybe Harry would make Louis laugh with another one of his jokes.

He found Louis in one of the hallways that led to the grill. Harry heard Louis before he saw him. Heard his infectious laugh, and he could picture the crinkles he got around his eyes when he laughed like that. He was standing with a group, James Cordon, Ben Winston and Perrie. Zayn was nowhere to be seen. Harry would have preferred Zayn, who had never been outright cruel to him. He thought about turning around and returning from the direction he’d come.

“Hey, look, it’s Harry the fairy,” Ben called out.

Harry’s shoulders hunched over. And his parents wondered why he had a bad back.

“Can’t believe you got teamed with this flamer. Did he at least keep his tits away on the course today? You know he suffers from chronic nip slip.”

The group laughed, and Harry folded over on himself more. He searched for Louis. His eyes met Harry’s for a moment, before flicking away. He turned so that all Harry could see was his back. He scurried his way down the rest of the hallway, doing his best to block out the jeers. His face felt hot, and he had a tickling in the back of his throat he hated. He wouldn’t let himself cry in front of them. He couldn’t allow them the satisfaction.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll post the next chapter sometime next week. 
> 
> I so appreciate everyone who has read, kudos, or commented-it really means so much as a writer. Keep it up! 
> 
> If you want to chat, you can find me on Tumblr as Alltoowellmoments.
> 
> xx


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm posting this just in time for LuLu's birthday today. So, thank you as always to her.  
> Also, I'm am endlessly thankful to my beta, Flynn, for correcting all my flaws and giving helpful feedback, and to Bridget, for being a fan of this story, and for texting me endlessly about every little thing that happens with our boys. Without her, I could never keep up. xx

Chapter Seven

  


Liam was still on the course, and would be for at least another hour. Harry went to the grill, and took a seat at the long, mahogany bar. Behind it the wall was mirrored, and there were shelves full of liquor bottles.

“Hey, Harry,” the bartender, Paul, said, greeting him with a smile. Paul had been working the bar at the club since his mom was a kid, and he knew their family well. “What can I get ya?”

Harry attempted to smile, but his lips felt wooden. “Shirley Temple, please.”

Paul turned away, to prepare his drink, grabbing the grenadine on his way to the fountain.

Harry took a shaky breath, and sniffled, trying to be discreet.

“Mind if I take this seat?” A voice said.

Harry looked up to see a guy a bit older than him. He had a quiff just like Louis, and was brunette, with half-lidded eyes.

Harry sniffled again. “Sure, of course.”

“Thanks,” the slim man slid into the leather bar chair. “You okay, man?”

That was all it took for the floodgates to open.

Droplets started welling in his eyes, and his face flushed deep red from the heat behind it. He started panicking, not wanting Paul, or this stranger to see him crying. Harry nodded furiously, pushing the heels of his hands against his eyes in an attempt to stop the tears from falling.

The man lowered his voice and scooched his chair over so he was closer to Harry. “Listen, I heard those guys in the hallway. They’restupid mother fuckers. Half of them are probably gay, or at the very least, questioning their sexuality, which is why they are so vicious. They are both envious and terrified of you.”

Harry snorted out a laugh, “Envious, of me? No, I think you’ve got the wrong guy.”

“No, I’m not wrong. I’ve seen you around. You are comfortable in who you are. You don’t dress like all the other Newport teenagers. You don’t conform. That takes a lot of courage. Courage those fuckers won’t have for many years. Some of the will never have that sort of courage. They will spend the rest of their lives following the herd. Not because it’s what they want to do, but because it’s the only thing they’ve ever done, and it is the easy choice.”

“I’m gawky and awkward and drowning in self-conscious loathing. You have me all wrong.”

The guy chuckled. “Yeah, I see the awkwardness, and that you are still uncomfortable in your body—let me guess, big growth spurt?”

Harry nodded.

“Getting use to it just takes time.”

Paul came over and gave Harry his Shirley Temple, extra cherries. Harry took it gratefully and sipped the carbonated, syrupy sweet drink through the straw.

“Hey, Nick. What I can I get for you?” Paul asked the guy with a smile, as he laid menus out on the bar in front of the two guys.

“Miller Lite,” Nick said, returning the smile, before turning back to Harry. “By the way, I should’ve introduced myself before I began my psycho-evaluation of you. Nick Grimshaw,” he said, offering his hand.

Harry took it gladly. “Harry Styles,” he muttered, his eyes on his drink.

“No,” Nick said, dropping his hand.

“No?” he echoed.

“We’re doing that again. A handshake is an important thing to have. A good one, that is. Look me in the eye when you introduce yourself. And be proud of who you are and your name, Harry Styles. Go again.”

Harry lifted his eyes to meet Nick’s as he grabbed his outstretched hand once again. “Harry Styles,” he said, louder and slightly more sure this time.

“Better,” Nick admitted, grabbing the bottle of beer Paul had left on the bar for him. “There’s room for improvement, but you’re getting there.”

Harry returned his eyes to his drink. The red syrup was settling at the bottom, so he stirred his straw to redistribute the flavor.

“Whose the boy you have it bad for?” Nick asked him.

Harry turned, open mouthed. He sputtered confused on how he could be so transparent, even to this perfect stranger. “How did you know?”

“Because, nine years ago, I was you.”

“What did you do?” he asked, his eyes hopeful. He wasn’t the only one. Nick had gone through this, and came out the other side to tell about it. Perhaps if he could do it, then so could Harry.

Nick laughed. “What I did was the exact opposite of what you should do. So, I’m not going to divulge the details and put terrible ideas into your impressionable little brain there,” he rapped lightly on Harry’s head, making him duck and blush. “But I will tell you this, which is what I wish someone had told me then. You want to know the secret to making this hell that is high school better for yourself?”

Harry nodded, eager, though he really doubted that this guy, as nice as he might seem, had a cure-all for adolescence.

“Confidence, Styles,” he said simply. “You need to have confidence in yourself, and the rest will follow.”

With that, Nick downed the last sip of his beer, and placed the empty bottle on the bar. He pushed himself off the chair and turned to Harry. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Harry Styles. I’m sure I will see you around the club. Take care of yourself,” he said with a wink.

Harry watched as Nick strode out of the grill, his hips swaying as he walked. He seemed so sure of himself, so comfortable. And so far from what Harry was. Harry had always wanted to be one of those guys who didn’t care what anyone thought of him. Who could just be himself. But, maybe, he thought, he just wasn’t one of those people.

\- - -

Liam and Niall came off the course, sweaty, slightly sunburned, but in high spirits.

“So, me grandpa comes out of the bathroom and says, ‘Doris, you’d better check the stove-it smells like something’s burnin’,” Niall finished his story. Liam laughed, throwing his head back, and Niall laughed along with him, even though it had been his own joke.

In the grill, Niall took off his hat, and ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked blonde hair, causing it to stick up in funny ways. “Mate, you’ve gotta take off your cap in the grill—no hats allowed,” he whispered to Liam.

Liam nodded gratefully and removed the offending cap, grimacing slightly as he did, knowing his hair had to be in an awful state. He folded it and crammed it into his back pocket. He looked around the dim room, where there were square tables set for two or four people, and a long, dark bar with a mirror behind it. Sitting at the end of the bar, stirring a straw through the dregs of some sort of pink drink, he recognized a familiar curly head.

Liam tilted his head towards the bar and Niall followed him. He hopped up into the chair beside Harry in one swift move, while Niall took the one on Harry’s other side.

“Did you and Louis have a good round?” Liam asked, letting his eyes drift over the rest of the room, even though it was Harry he was talking to. He didn’t see Louis, nor did he see the olive skin and dark hair he had really been hoping to see.

“I played well,” Harry said.

Liam’s eyes snapped back to Harry. There was something off in his voice—too melancholy for someone who’d shot well and had just spent several hours playing golf one-on-one with the boy he had named his sailboat after.

Liam lowered his voice as he leaned closer to Harry. “You okay?”

Harry nodded, straw between his lips. Liam wasn’t positive he was, but he decided not to push it here. They would talk at home.

Niall reached over Harry’s shoulder and clapped him on the back, gaining the boys attention. “Sorry, we haven’t met yet. I’m Niall Horan, new to Newport, just moved here from Mulling, Ireland. I’ll be starting at Harbor High in a few weeks. And, I am this fine lads golf partner.”

Liam raised up his coke towards Niall in recognition. Niall raised his pint right back at him.

“Harry Styles,” Harry said, looking Niall in the eye and offering his hand. It seemed very uncharacteristic to Liam for Harry to be so strong in his introduction to a stranger. Harry was more the mumble and look at the floor type while offering a limp hand. Must’ve been Niall, Liam decided. He did seem to have a way of immediately putting people at ease. Harry must’ve felt it too. “I’m Liam’s…,” Harry paused, searching for the right words to describe their arrangement. “Liam lives with my family,” he settled on eventually. “I go to Harbor High, too.”

Liam noted that, for once, Harry seemed something aside from dejected when mentioning his school. It gave him a glimmer of hope that maybe he could make things better for Harry.

“Aces,” Niall said, as he picked up the menu Paul had left. “That’s perfect, actually. School hasn’t even begun, and already I’ve found my mates.”

“Actually,” Liam interjected. “I don’t go to Harbor High.”

“You will,” Harry said.

“I don’t even know where I’m going to be come September.”

Harry turned towards Liam, looking confused and slightly hurt. “What do you mean you don’t know where you’ll be? You’ll still be with us. And Mom and Dad will ensure you get into HH, so don’t worry about that. It’ll be great.”

Liam wasn’t convinced that the Styles were still going to want him around by then. Knowing his mother, she would probably have surfaced by then, and dragged him back to Chino with her new dead-beat live-in. Even if they couldn’t go back to the house, they would end up in some slum of an apartment, and Liam would be back at Chino Hills High School. Liam didn’t say any of this, though. Harry seemed fragile enough at the moment—no need to add to that, with something Liam could do nothing about.

“Shall we get order food, lads? I don’t know about you two, but I am starving,” Niall said, waving his paper menu at them. “And then you can tell us new kids on the block about what there is to do for fun around here.”

\- - -

Back in the Styles’ pool, Harry floated on an inflatable, over-sized pink and purple ring. His butt hung through the circle, so it was dipped in the water. His long legs hung over one side, his head over the other. Liam floated nearby, in that same raft he had been on the other day. It seemed he had claimed it for his own.

The sky above was fading to a deep blue, hinting at the impending twilight. He could hear the pool filter clinking on and off every few minutes.

“What’d you think of Niall?” Liam asked, using his foot to push off the side of the pool, so he floated closer to Harry, and further away from the wall.

“I actually really like him.”

“Why do you sound so surprised?”

“I like people, and I want to believe that we are inherently good,” Harry said, his raspy voice low. “But so many people my own age have been cruel to me. It makes me distrustful of people when I first meet them.”

“You seemed to trust me.”

“My dad knew you were a good kid, and I trusted his judgement. And he was right.”

“Well, I don’t know about that, Harry.”

“I do. You’re one of the good ones. So is Niall.”

“Does something about his accent seem off?”

“What, you mean that he was Irish?” Harry questioned.

Liam shook his head, even though the way they were positioned, Harry couldn’t see him. “I know he’s Irish. Kid wouldn’t shut up about it. But his accent just seemed off to me.”

Harry shrugged. “It sounded right to me.”

The conversation fell away, but not in an uncomfortable way. It was just the flow of the exchange. The only other person Liam had ever felt content to just exist with—without pointless talk, music or other distractions to fill the void—was Ed. He felt a pang of guilt, as if he was replacing his brother for this taller, curlier, softer boy. That wasn’t what he was doing. He was just making a friend. Ed had plenty of friends outside Liam—he should be allowed the same.

“I had a run in with Ben again,” Harry admitted.

Liam sat up quickly, disturbing the water around him, making the raft sway side to side from the weight shift. He tried to maintain balance, his fingers slipping on slick plastic as he searched for a foothold. The raft flipped, throwing Liam over along with it. The sudden walls of water that surrounded him took him by surprise, his eyes open, stinging with chlorine. He pushed up to the surface, sputtering out water when he reached the air.

“You okay?” Harry looked concerned, already at Liam’s side, his hand patting at his back to force any water he may have swallowed out.

Coughing. Red faced and drooling, Liam caught his breath, his diaphragm returning to normal. “Yeah, I’m fine. Are you okay? Did that bastard mess with you again?”

Harry put his hand up to Liam’s chest to stop him. “He didn’t touch me, just said some things.”

“Like what?” Liam spit his words, furious that anyone would be cruel to someone as sweet as Harry.

Harry waded away from Liam, turning so he faced the Malik’s house next door. He bit his lip and looked down at his submerged feet. “Just called me a fairy, made fun of the way I dressed. The usual.”

“Harry, do they do this a lot?”

“Yeah, kind of. But it felt worse this time, because Louis was there. He was there and he didn’t say anything. He just looked at me, and then looked away. After I really had thought we’d had fun golfing. That maybe he was starting to see me, finally! But I guess I was wrong. Again.”

Liam hoisted himself out of the pool and walked around to the pool wall Harry was at. He sat down next to where Harry was leaning against the edge, so he could see his eyes. “Harry,” he said softly. “So you really think Louis is worth all this?”

“What do you mean?” he asked, his green eyes wide and young looking. His curls hung wet and loose, heavy with the water. “They would make fun of me regardless. They don’t know that I’m in love with him. They just know I’m gay, and that’s all the fuel they need.”

“I know that. There are horrible, ignorant people out there, but, Haz, the last two times they really got to you, the only reason you were in the same place as them was because you were trying to get closer to Louis. If those are the kinds of people he chooses to surround himself with, then maybe he’s not who you think he is.”

“No!” Harry was insistent. “He’s not like them.”

“Then why does he hang out with them. No one is forcing him to.”

“I don’t know, Liam. Why did you steal a car and hang out with delinquents? No one was forcing you to.”

With that, Harry pushed himself out of the pool and grabbed a towel from where he had left it on the table. Harry took a deep breath, then, after a moment, spoke again. “I’m sorry, Li. I shouldn’t have said that. I just…I know that isn’t Louis. Sure, he may be going with the herd now, but that’s just self-preservation. I know he’s good, just like I knew you were good.”

Liam sighed, not wanting to argue over this anymore. “I hope you’re right, Haz. I just don’t want to see you hurt.”

“I know,” Harry said softly. “And that’s how I know you’re good people.”

\- - -

Liam stood in the pool house, following a line with his eyes from his putter to the cup he had set up as a makeshift hole. While his long game had been perfectly respectable, his short game had been an absolute mess. This was his attempt to improve it.

Just as he finally felt ready to hit the ball, there was a knock on his door. “Come in,” he said, taking the swing. The ball rolled, too soft, and stopped before it reached the cup.

“You’ve gotta find a middle ground,” Alberto said, as he came through the door, with Anne following close behind. “Not too soft, not too hard.”

“Yeah, I seem to always hit too hard, so I was trying something different.”

“Doesn’t surprise me, but with some patience, you’ll get it.”

“Liam, we wanted to talk to you if you have a minute,” Anne said, as she walked primly over to the couch and sat down.

This was what Liam had been afraid of. They’d changed their minds about letting him stay with them. Or they’d found his mom and she wanted him back in Chino. He felt a sick twisting in his stomach, but took a seat in the chair anyways, while Alberto sat down beside Anne.

“We went to talk to Child Protective Services today,” Anne began, and, immediately, Liam knew this conversation was not headed anywhere good.

“And,” Alberto said, “we told them we want to you to stay with us.”

Liam’s eyes went wide and he tried not to get his hopes up too much.

“But, there’s a catch,” he continued.

Wasn’t that always the way it went?

“Because you’re a minor,” said Anne. “The only way they’ll allow that to happen, is if we assume full legal responsibility for you.”

Liam shook his head. “I can’t ask you guys to do that.”

“You don’t have to,” Alberto said. “We’re asking you.”

“We’ve all talked about it,” Anne said, her mouth bending into a soft smile. “And we want to be your legal guardians. We want you to be part of the family. If you want to be.”

“But what if it doesn’t work?” Liam blurted out. “What if something happens and you change your mind.”

“We won’t,” Alberto said, his voice thick with finality. “But you do have to promise us to stay out of trouble.”

Liam nodded solemnly. “No more trouble. I promise.”

Alberto got up, and Anne followed suit. “Welcome to the family,” he said, his face bursting from a smile, and, in that moment, Liam could see the father son resemblance. He gave Liam a quick, fatherly hug, complete with a pat on the back. Anne kissed his cheek softly.

“Alright, Harry, you can come in now.”

Harry popped his head through the pool house door. Anne laughed, a trilling, light sound. The adults—Liam’s new legal guardians, returned to the house, leaving the boys.

“Did you know about this?”

“Might’ve heard a thing or two,” he said with a smirk. “Couldn’t say anything though, didn’t want to jinx it.”

Harry went in for a hug, using both his arms, engulfing Liam’s middle. Liam hugged back, and patted Harry on the back like Alberto had done to him. Family. Now Liam had more reason than ever to look out for this curly, baby giraffe of a boy. To make sure he was happy. It was a task Liam was more than happy to take on.

\- - -

“Bro, did you see Baby Boston at the club, looking all Tiger Woods pre-scandal sexy?” Louis asked as he wrestled with a pack of Haribo gummy bears.

Zayn looked up from where he was meticulously rolling a joint with his nimble fingers, sandwich baggy of weed set on the coffee table in front of him. “You do realize he’s not actually from Boston, right?”

Louis rolled his eyes. “I know, he’s from _Chino_ , but Baby Chino doesn’t have the same ring to it, you know? The golf look though, it was so hot. He can put his ball in my hole any time he wants.”

“Are you looking for me to like, set you up with him or something? I thought you said he was a total psycho?”

“Well, that was before I got to know him?”

“When did you get to know him?” Zayn narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“At the club today. Chatted with him in the pro-shop for a quick second. And that bad boy thing. Especially when you know underneath those preppy clothes is this brooding, troubled bad boy. He’s wounded. I can save him.”

”Let’s be honest, Lou. I don’t think you’re really qualified to save anyone.” Zayn said, as he licked the rolling paper to seal it. “Plus, he’s not really a bad boy.”

Louis shrugged as he bit the head off a green gummy bear. “He will be by the time I’m done with him.”

Zayn sighed heavily and reached for the cheap plastic lighter.

“What?” Louis said. “You’re not like, into him, or something, are you? I thought you and Perrie were good?”

“We are.”

“Good. Now light that thing up.”

Zayn put the joint between his lips and burned the bottom with the lighter, inhaling, until it caught. He filled his lungs and leaned back on the couch.

“Joint lit. Happy days,” Louis said, as he took it from Zayn’s hand.

“Who’d you end up partnered with anyhow? You never told me?”

Louis breathed out a stream of smoke. “That Harry Styles kid.”

“How was it?”

“We played well. I mean, we’re no team Malikson, but it was solid. We moved on to tomorrow.”

Zayn reached across Louis for the gummy bears. “How was Harry?”

“He was fine. Actually a funny kid. I don’t know. He’s pretty awkward. Gangly. And his face is sort of…I don’t know…amphibian?”

Zayn laughed. “Amphibian. What does that even mean? How can someone be Amphibian?

“You know, frog like?”

“No, I don’t know. I think he’s a normal dude. But what I do know is, there are far too few red gummy bears in this pack.”

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I posted this sooner than I had originally planned, so it might be an actual week until I post the next one (or not, you never know with me, I'm so all over the place with these updates). But really, I need to focus on my stories for school for a bit--as much as I love writing about the boys. This is my way of procrastinating, but I'm really getting into crunch time now with school. 
> 
> So I'm off now to write about pregnant teens and alcoholic fathers, and pedophiles who work in shoe stores (I promise, these are different stories) instead of boybanders. 
> 
> Comments and Kudos mean more than I can express, and they feed my little writer soul. Seriously, feedback or criticism of any kind is so helpful to me. So thank you to all of you who have given feedback.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr as Alltoowellmoments if you want to chat.
> 
> Until next time,  
> xx


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you to everyone who has read, commented and kudos--you guys are seriously so sweet. I'm so glad you are enjoying the story as much as I am enjoying writing it. Keep the feedback coming--it means more than you could possibly know, and it helps keep me motivated to push on with this story.
> 
> A massive, massive thank you also to Flynn, as always, for being the most kick-ass beta a girl could have. And to Bridget, because she's good people and keeps me sane in this mental fandom that I love. 
> 
> This chapter may seem slightly disjointed, but it is necessary to set up what comes next. So just trust me on that one. (Or don't, I'm a stranger on the internet, and trust needs to be earned). 
> 
> As I type this my cat is trying to chew on my hand, so clearly he doesn't trust me either. I'l stop now, I'm probably starting to sound nuts (or that may have happened long ago). Anyways, here's chapter eight.

Chapter Eight

The next day, Harry was not feeling nearly as enthused as he had on the first day of the tournament. Niall and Liam’s tee time was before theirs, so he had time to burn until he had to meet Louis. He wandered around the clubhouse, pausing in the library to look at the old, dusty books, with their bindings coming apart. There were paintings on the dark walls of grim looking middle-aged men—club founders and past presidents.

Harry’s stomach rumbled, reminding him he had skipped breakfast. Might as well go to the grill and eat something, he thought.

He headed down that same hall where he had encountered Ben and co. the day before, with the view of the courtyard and marble fountain, and the modern chandelier hanging above. He felt his shoulders slouch a bit, making himself smaller out of habit.

Paul was working the bar again. Harry raised himself up onto the same bar stool he’d sat on the day before. He ordered an orange juice and waited for Paul to bring back a menu and his drink.

“Harold,” a voice called out. He paused at the sound. But it had been Harold, not Harry. And Harold sounded like an old man’s name, probably one of the regulars who had breakfast in the grill before hitting the driving range. Paul brought his orange juice, the sides of the glass thick with pulp. He opened the dense, leather bound menu and perused his options.

“Harold!” That same voice called again, slightly more urgent this time.

Poor Harold probably needed to replace the batteries in his hearing aids, Harry thought.

“Harry,” Paul said, as he poured tomato juice into a glass for a bloody Mary. “I think your friend over there is calling you.”

He gave Paul a quizzical look before turning to view the rest of the grill. It was pretty empty, just a few older men, and a group of middle aged women playing mahjong at a corner table. Then he spotted the source of the Harold calls. Sitting by himself, at a table for two near the window, was Louis Tomlinson. His hair was down today, so his still shower-damp bangs swept across his forehead, grazing over one of his eyes. He wore a neat white polo shirt, buttoned all the way to the top. When he saw Harry looking his way, he motioned with his hand for him to come over.

Harry glanced up at Paul, who shrugged at him, as if to say, might as well. Harry collected his menu and juice and walked tentatively over to Louis.

“Morning, Harold,” Louis said with a smile, and a twinkle in his blue eyes as they caught the sun through the window. “Care to join me for breakfast?”

Harry glanced around the room, looking for the catch. It had to be a trick. That was probably why Louis had a glint in his eyes.

“Why are you asking me?” Harry stood near the edge of the table, juice clutched in one hand, menu under his arm. His voice came out, somehow, both suspicious and choked at the same time. Smooth, Styles, he thought.

“We are partners. And I could use some company. Don’t like eating alone, if I’m being honest.”

Harry’s heart softened a bit at that. Louis didn’t like to be alone.

“Are you sure?” Harry was still skeptical.

“Of course, take a seat.”

Harry folded his long legs under the table and took the seat across from Louis.

Louis picked up his mug and sipped. Harry watched him over glass, trying not to stare. At least…not too much.

“We’ve got to stay under par if there’s any hope for us moving on after today,” Louis said, as he pouted more tea into his mug from the white pot. “I don’t know about you, but I’m pretty competitive. I don’t like to lose if I can help it.”

“You do know my name isn’t Harold, right?” Harry asked, as he pushed the bits of pulp that had been left near the lip of the cup around. He didn’t look up when he said this, just stayed focused on the white table cloth, the crystal cut salt and pepper shakers. Harry had to know. Louis had already mistaken him for a Henry, now Harold. Really, just how invisible had he been to Louis all these years that he couldn’t get his name right? Their school wasn’t _that_ big.

“‘Course I know that. Harry Styles. See, I know your name,” Louis said, looking smug, as if he knew Harry had been doubting him.

Harry looked up, the whisper of a smile crossing his lips.

“I just like to come up with nicknames for everyone. Or, if your name is already shortened, then I use the proper form. Like yours.”

“But my real name is Harry,” he said. “Harry Edward Styles.”

“Right, but it can be a nickname—like if your name was Harold. Or if your name was Mike, I’d call you Michael. I call Zayn ‘Z’, and Perrie ‘Pez’. So don’t go around thinking you’re special or anything.”

“Do only special people get nicknames?”

“Something like that,” Louis said. And then, Harry could swear he saw Louis wink at him. It happened so fast he couldn’t be sure. But he knew what he saw.

\- — -

Zayn was regretting doing the tournament with Perrie.

In golf, there is this rule that if you have ten strokes or over, you have to pick up your ball. It’s a seldom used rule, as most people can get down the fairway in under ten strokes.

They were only eight holes in, and already, the rule had been enforced on Perrie four times.

When he’d agreed to play with her, it hadn’t occurred to him that they had never played golf in all the time he’d known her. They’d played tennis, and she was good at that, so he just assumed she was good at golf too. Or at least passable. How they’d even made it to the second day was beyond him. They had been one away from being cut.

Now, as Zayn watched the bubbly blonde chip her ball farther into the sand trap, he wished they had been cut. It took them so excruciatingly long to make it through one hole, with the hot mid-afternoon sun beating down. He’d worn a black shirt, which had been his first mistake. He could feel the back of his neck burning. His skin itched in that way it only did when he was sweating excessively, or was overheated. Right now he felt both.

“Pezza,” Zayn called out. Perry looked up mid-shot. Probably should have waited until she was done, he thought to himself. But then, he watched the ball fly out of the trap, bits of sand falling onto the nearby grass, until it rolled softly onto the green, in good position to the hole.

“Nice!” she cheered, raising her club into the air. “What’s up, Z?”

“Can we stop into the shack—it’s so hot and I just need to sit down.”

“You shouldn’t have worn black.” She said it in a scolding way, the way you would a child who refused to listen.

“Not much I can do about that now, is there?” he snapped back, irritated.

“Fine, we can stop. Let’s just finish this hole.”

Zayn had already finished the hole three strokes ago. He’d made par (4). He plopped down into the cart as Perrie zoomed it closer to the green. She got out and went to her ball, putter in hand. Zayn closed his eyes and tilted his head back. He didn’t need to watch.

The night before, in his room with Louis, they had smoked and talked. They used to do that all the time—before Zayn became preoccupied with Perrie. He missed it. Louis had asked him something that had really stuck in his head. It was later in the night, when the only gummy bears left were the yellow ones. Even high Louis wouldn’t eat those ones. They’d moved onto a tub of Ben and Jerry’s Louis had found in the back of the Malik’s freezer, hidden behind a bag of frozen peas and a DiGiorno.

Zayn had used a spoon, while Louis picked out all the cookie dough pieces with his fingers.

“You can’t do that, you’re ruining it,” he had insisted.

“No, I’m not the one doing it,” Louis insisted. “That was B and J, when they put in the vanilla part.”

“You mean the actual ice cream?”

“Yeah, it ruins it for me.”

“But without it, it would just be cookie dough and brownie pieces.”

“Exactly,” Louis said, looking pleased at the thought of such a concoction.

“But then it wouldn’t be ice cream.”

“But it would be delicious.”

Zayn frowned at the pint, which seemed to only be the dreaded vanilla part, as Louis would call it. Lou had eaten the rest.

“Can I ask you something?”

He looked up. Louis was lying on the carpeted floor of his bedroom, staring at the ceiling fan as it slowly rotated above. “Sure, Lou.”

“Are you happy with Pezza?”

If the corners of Zayn’s mind hadn’t been softened by the weed, he probably would have been more defensive in his reaction. As it was, he stayed where he was on the couch.

“I don’t know, Lou. I guess so. But how do you really know if you’re happy? What’s the deciding factor?” Zayn looked over at his best friend, who was following the track of the fan with his eyes.

It was quiet for so long, if he hadn’t been looking at Louis, he would thought he’d fallen asleep.

“I’m not sure. I think it’s just a feeling. I think you’d know if you were happy.”

It wasn’t that Perrie didn’t make him happy. There were just times he found himself wanting to be without her more and more. He wasn’t longing to spend time with her, like he had when they’d first gotten together. And then there was the sex thing.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to. He did, if only for curiosity’s sake. He just wasn’t sure he was sexually attracted to Perrie. He didn’t have the urge to rip her clothes off when they made out. Her boobs were nice, and soft, but he liked them in the same way he enjoyed a good pillow. Her vagina also sort of freaked him out. Not that there was anything wrong with hers—it was more vaginas as a whole that confounded him.

He had tried watching gay porn, out of curiosity and as an experiment for himself. It hadn’t done much for him. He’d watched it locked in his bathroom, shower running and music blasting so no one could hear. He’d held his dick in his hand, and pumped it as he watched the guys on screen get each other off. It always felt good when Perrie blew him, but watching the taller guy get on his knees for the short, Hipster looking guy did nothing for him. He tried to imagine fitting his own mouth around a hard, throbbing dick. Nothing. If anything, it just made him want to gag in the same way he had the first (and only) time he’d gone down on Perrie. Again, it had nothing to do with her—he just had a very sensitive gag reflex.

He moved his hand faster, using saliva to moisten. He kept at it long after the men on his laptop had finished. And still, he couldn’t get the release.

He gave up eventually, shutting his laptop with a snap. He flipped the shower handle to cold and stepped under, making a high-pitched noise as the freezing water hit his back, and he watched his erection deflate. Maybe he just wasn’t a sexual person.

“I think I would too,” Zayn whispered, so soft he wasn’t sure Louis could hear it. If he was happy, he would know.

The cart started moving, snapping Zayn back to the present moment, where sweat trickled down his neck, not icy-water. Icy water sounded excellent at the moment though, he had to admit.

Perrie drove them to the snack shack, parking the cart out front, under the shade of a tree. She pulled the key out of the starter and shoved it into the pocket of her golf skirt. “I’m going to the bathroom. I’ll meet you in there.”

He nodded and breathed a sigh of relief when he walked into the cool, air-conditioned room. It was dim, with three tables scattered around the room. He was the only one there, aside from a bored looking teenager running the concessions.

He ordered an Arnold Palmer and a large fry, knowing Perrie would end up eating most of them.

“You really fucked up on that one, didn’t you mate? Straight into the pond,” An accented voice said, laughing, as the screened door creaked on its hinges.

“Hey, at least I didn’t do it on an international stage,” a familiar voice shot back.

“Ouch, touche.”

Zayn turned to see a jolly looking blonde boy. Jolly wasn’t typically an adjective he would have used to describe anyone his own age, but in this case, it seemed to fit. As the blonde moved closer, the other voice was revealed. Dressed all in black, minus his white golf shoes, was Liam. Black hat, which he wore backwards, black shorts, black belt with a silver buckle and a black polo shirt, one of the sweat-wicking ones. He stopped short when he saw Zayn standing there, and it sounded like the laughter died in his mouth. The other boy went right up to counter to order food.

“Hey, Liam,” Zayn said, raising his hand. His voice sounded odd to his own ears—just off somehow.

“Zayn,” Liam nodded his head in the way guys do.

“Order up,” the pimply teenaged concession boy called in a bored, monotone voice.

Zayn grabbed the container of fries and his drink, then plopped down at one of the tables. He squirted out ketchup onto his plate, and it made a loud, farting noise as it came out of the bottle. He looked around, holding the bottle prominently so Liam wouldn’t think the noise had come from him. He wasn’t sure why he cared, but he did. Zayn dragged a fry through the ketchup, his body tempter finally returning to a tolerable level.

“Mind if we join you?” Liam asked, even though both of the other tables in the room were clean and empty.

“Go ahead.”

Liam placed his hot dog and Gatorade on the table and sat down in the seat opposite him. “When are we going to have that hang out session you were talking about?”

Zayn looked up, his eyes lighting up the slightest bit. He was surprised Liam had remembered. “I’ll have to talk to Lou, but we should def do it soon.”

“You could come hang out tonight, if you wanted, I mean.” Liam’s eyes were focused on his hot dog, which he was meticulously spreading mustard and ketchup on. “If you’re not busy, I mean.”

“Yeah, I mean, I don’t know if Louis is available, but I’d be in.”

Liam looked up and smiled. “Even if he can’t, you still should. I’d like to hang out—just the two of us.”

“Alright, I will.” Zayn didn’t even attempt to hide the grin that spread across his face.

\- - -

“Al, you promised you would come to the champions dinner. I mean, look, Harry has a chance of winning this year, it would mean so much to him. And to me.”

Alberto cleared his throat and stepped closer to his wife, in an attempt to make their conversation more private. It didn’t matter—Liam and Harry could still hear them from where they sat at the top of the stairs, their voices carrying into the high eaves of the house.

“That was before I knew the holy terror, the devil himself, would be making an appearance.”

Liam turned to Harry, and mouthed “Who?”, but Harry shushed him.

“He’s my father, Al. We haven’t seen him in over a year. And you know how much he loves the tournament. It’s for one night.”

“He’s not staying with us, then?”

There was silence from the kitchen, and it was clear what the answer to his question was.

Beside Liam on the top stair, Harry stood up. He nudged Liam towards Harry’s bedroom, and Liam obediently followed, curious about this man.

“What’s so wrong with your grandfather?” Liam asked, after the door had been shut behind him. He bounced down onto Harry’s bed, while Harry paced the room.

“He’s super critical of me, and everything I do. He thinks I’m gay because I never have a girlfriend. And he asks me about it every time I see him.”

“You are gay though,” Liam said slowly, confused. Mr. And Mrs. Styles both knew about and embraced Harry’s sexuality.

“Yes, but he doesn’t need to know that. My grandfather practically owns half of orange county. He’s an incredibly powerful man. An incredibly powerful man who wears v-neck t-shirts, but still.”

“How can you be so sure he wouldn’t be accepting of you?”

“I’m not, but it’s easier if I just don’t cross that bridge, you know?” Harry plopped down on the other side of the bed, making it bounce from the change in weight.

“Go back. You’re grandfather, the most powerful man in orange county, wears v-neck t-shirts?” This image confounded Liam. What self respecting older man wore v-necks?

“Yes. Just wait, you’ll see.” Harry sighed, as if the thought of spending time with his grandfather was already exhausting him. He rolled over and curled into Liam, his hair tickling Liam’s nose.

They lay like that for a long time, until Liam’s phone buzzed—a message from Zayn saying he was on his way over.

“You want to come swim with us?” he offered up, as he climbed out of bed, punching a response into the new phone the Styles’ had gotten him. He was on the family plan now. He’d never been on a family plan before—he’d always had a pay-as-you-go phone.

Harry rolled so he was cocooned in his blue and white striped duvet. “No, you go. Have fun. I’ll sit here and wallow.”

“I thought you and Louis had a good day today?”

“We did. We had breakfast, and we got along so well. And we moved on to the final day of the tournament. But now my grandfather is coming.”

“Maybe he’s gay,” Liam said with a shrug, as he opened the door, headed out to meet Zayn. “That could be why he’s always asking you about it.”

Harry laughed a startled, barking laugh. “No, trust me, he is the farthest thing from gay. Wait until you meet his new girlfriend—they change constantly, always younger and hotter than the one before. Simon Cowell is the farthest thing from gay. Turn the lights off when you go,” he said, before burying himself deeper in the bed.

\- - -

Liam found Zayn waiting on the side of the pool house, a lit cigarette dangling from his hand. He was sitting down, leaning against the brick of the wall. Lit only by the eerie glow of he pool lights, he looked beautiful, with the clear hollows carved by his high cheekbones, and his dark hair flopping into his face

“Hey,” Liam said, startling Zayn out of whatever he had been thinking about.

“Hey,” Zayn said, taking a last puff from his cig before dragging it out on the concrete. He stood up, as Liam unlocked the pool house.

“Come on, I have to change into trunks, but then we can hop in the pool. Or, wade, if that’s what you prefer.”

“That it is,” Zayn said, as he followed him in.

“So, this is where I live, though I guess you’ve seen it before.”

“Yeah, nice. Living in a pool house—aren’t you a fancy pants.”

Liam ducked his head as he pulled a pair of swim shorts off the hook they’d been drying on and smiled. “Hey, don’t knock it ’til you try it.”

“I’m not, really. I wish my parents would let me live in a pool house. It would make my life a lot easier.”

“Honestly,” Liam said, as he pulled off his shirt, “I’m just happy to have somewhere to stay. If it weren’t for the Styles’, I don’t know where I’d be.”

Liam’s eyes met Zayn’s, dark eyes on dark eyes. They stayed like that a moment longer than was appropriate. Zayn was the one to break contact, as he stripped out of is shirt.

“Did you really steal that car like everyone says?”

“Technically, yes.” Liam turned around as he stepped into his suit.

He grabbed two towels, tossing one at Zayn, and the pair headed back out to the pool. They sat down next to each other, feet dangling in the water.

“It’s was my brother Ed’s idea to steal the car. I just went along with it. I got probation, because I’m younger and don’t have any priors. He wasn’t so lucky. My family’s kind of fucked up.”

“My family’s not perfect,” Zayn said quietly. Liam couldn’t see his eyes; they were covered by his bangs. “My parents fight all the time, and my dad doesn’t come home a lot of nights. I can hear her crying in her bedroom when she thinks I’m asleep. I think they’re going to get a divorce.”

“I wish my parents would have gotten divorced. It would have made things easier,” Liam admitted.

“You’re the first person I’ve told about this.”

“You haven’t told Perrie, or Louis?”

“Louis’ got enough of his own problems at home. And Perrie, well, actually, we’re taking a break.”

Liam’s head snapped up, his eyes connecting with Zayn’s. “Why? When?” This surprised him more than Zayn’s admittance about his parents.

“I just…I’m not in love with her.”

Liam nodded, his eyes softening.

They were quiet, just the sounds of the pool filter clicking on and off, and the far away noise of a car alarm going off.

“Alright, we need to have some fun,” Liam said, standing up.

“What do you mean?”

“We deserve to have fun, don’t you think?”

“I guess,” Zayn said, but his voice didn’t sound convinced.

\- - -

Liam’s breath was hot on his ear, crouched behind him. “What if you don’t have a choice?” he said mischievously.

Zayn smiled, until he felt his body being pushed closer to the water. “No!” he squealed, jumping up so Liam couldn’t throw him in the pool.

“Okay, okay,” Liam said, putting his hands up as he walked away.

He deserved to have fun. Liam was right.

Zayn got a running start, and pushed Liam towards the water, laughing the whole time.

“I’m taking you with me!” Liam said, just as he lost his balance. His arms wrapped around Zayn, and the pair went crashing into the water.

He was so thankful they were in the shallow end and he could touch. They both laughed, circling around each other, the pool light casting strange shadows on their faces. Zayn splashed Liam, and Liam spun around, dragging his hands on the water’s surface as he did, causing the water to splash up and out in a neat pattern.

Zayn jumped on Liam’s back and dunked his head underwater. When he surfaced, their faces were inches away from each other.

Zayn glanced down at Liam’s full, red lips. They looked soft, and like they would be nice to kiss. They hovered, so close.

For a moment.

Then a moment more.

Liam ducked, popping his head underwater and swimming away. Ruining the moment.

There had been a moment there, Zayn was sure of it. It hadn’t been all in his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come say hi on tumblr, I'm alltoowellmoments.
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> xx


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, thank you to Flynn for being a wonderful Beta, an adorable sap and for encouraging me to keep going. He's the best, seriously. 
> 
> As always, thank you to Bridget, who is always willing to listen to me blabber on about any and everything 1d or Larry related. 
> 
> And, most importantly, to all of you who have kudos, commented, or read. It makes me happier than I can possibly express that this little story has found an audience beyond my sister. Please keep up the comments--your feedback helps to make future chapters stronger :).
> 
> This chapter is nearly 7k, so significantly longer than the ones that have preceded it.

Chapter Nine

Harry toed a pebble with his foot as he waited near the large fountain out back at the club. It was the final day of the tournament, and there were only two pairs left: him and Louis and another pair that Harry didn’t know personally, but had seen around the club. They went to a different school.

The day before, he and Louis agreed to meet here prior to their tee time. He was half expecting Louis to stand him up—not for the golfing, Louis was too competitive for that—but for the meet up. It was still early, and a smoggy, grey fog settled over the club grounds. He was tired, not because he hadn’t had enough sleep but because he had gotten too much. He body just felt drained, in the way it only can when you’ve overslept. He had fallen asleep almost as soon as Liam had left to meet up with Zayn. Liam was still asleep when he’d left that morning. He should’ve stopped for coffee on the way to the club.

“Harry Styles,” a voice called.

He turned to see a quiffed guy headed his way. But not the one he’d been waiting for.

“Nick,” Hair said in greeting. A grin crept across his face. “What are you doing here so early?”

“I was about to ask you the same thing, kid. I’m here because I have some business to take care of. How ‘bout you?”

“I’ve got to play.”

Nick raised his eyebrows. “In the tournament—you’re in the finals?”

Harry nodded.

“Nice job, kid. I never made it that far when I was your age. Or, ever, really, now that I think about it.”

“We should play sometime,” Harry suggested, though he wasn’t entirely sure why. There was just something about Nick that made Harry want to spend more time with him. Maybe it was that, for once, someone was actually paying genuine attention to him. Not to say he was the only one. His parents had always been there for him. And now he had Liam, though he worried that would be short-lived. Liam was already starting to make other friends—Zayn, and, now, Niall. Niall, who was an outsider like Liam—they probably had more in common.

“Yeah, that sounds great. Seems like you’re working on that confidence, Styles. I like that,” Nick said, smiling, though Harry couldn’t tell how real the smile was. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. “Bring along your grandfather, too?”

And there it was. The reason Nick was being so nice to him. He should have known, he realized.

The summer he was thirteen, Harry attended sailing camp. He made a friend there, Jake. It was the first friend he’d made in years. Jake came over to his house, hung out in his pool, played video games with him. On the last day of camp, his grandpa picked him up and took the two boys in his private jet to Hawaii for a week. They hiked the volcanos, went to a pineapple farm, surfed, and went on a helicopter tour. After they returned to California, Jake stopped returning his calls. Harry ran into him at the club a few weeks later, and asked what happened. Jake told him he only became friends with Harry because of his grandpa. “He’s like the Donald Trump of the West,” Jake had said with a smirk. “Had to see what I could get out of it. Trip to Hawaii wasn’t too shabby, eh?”

Harry’s face fell. Nick must have noticed.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Harry. I’m starting a project with him. Going to be working with Mr. Cowell for the next couple of months—that’s all.”

Harry breathed out, unaware he’d been holding his breath.

“That’s actually why I’m here—we’re meeting for breakfast to go over some things.”

Harry darted his head around erratically, searching the grey day for a glimpse of his grandfather. “Is he here?”

“He will be. We aren’t meeting for another half hour.”

Harry sat down on the edge of the fountain, positioning himself so he was not in such plain view to the clubhouse. “When you meet with him…could you not,” Harry paused trying to figure out the best way to articulate what he was trying to say. “Could you not mention, like, the stuff we talked about the other day?”

Nick nodded, his face serious. “I don’t make it a habit to go around randomly outing people. Don’t worry.”

“It’s not that I’m not out, or that I’m ashamed of who I am,” he clarified. “It’s just different with my grandpa.”

“You don’t have to explain. Trust me, Harry, if anyone understands the delicacy of being gay and dealing with various family members—its me.” Nick patted his knee. “But that’s a story for another day.” He lowered his voice. “Looks like someone is headed your way.”

Harry looked up to see Louis headed from the parking lot, two Starbucks cups clutched in his hands.

Nick winked as he walked away. “See you around, love.”

Harry raised his hand and waved at Louis. He tried to rearrange his face so his smile wasn’t too obvious.

\- - -

Louis stopped at Starbucks on the way to the club that morning. He got himself a black tea, and a latte for Harry, because he had no idea what his partner would want, but he figured a latte was a fairly safe bet.

He was in a good mood. Mark, his bastard of a step-dad, was out of town, and the night before had been really nice with his mom and sisters. They’d played Monopoly, ordered pizza and made ice cream sundaes. Louis had been the thimble. He was always the thimble.

The earlier part of the day had been nice too—he and Harry had made it to the finals—and they’d gotten along.

Harry Styles was an odd frog of a boy. But if you actually took the time to listen to him, he was sort of funny, in an understated way. Louis was funny in a big, LOUD way. Harry was the antithesis of him. But he was also so different from the rest of the Newport scene. Louis liked that about him.

Louis was running slightly late—then again, he was always running late. It pissed Mark off to no end. Made him say that Louis had no respect for anyone else’s time. That wasn’t true though—Louis just had the tendency to get distracted and lose track of time. He didn’t do it on purpose.

He strode along the path which led from the parking lot to the back of the clubhouse, coffee cups held in each hand. He spotted Harry, sitting on the edge of the fountain, just like they’d agreed on the day before. He was talking to someone. Slim, with a quiff—not unlike the one Louis liked to wear.

Louis smiled at the sight of Harry, dressed in black shorts with a purple shirt. It was a good color on him. He faltered when he saw the guy put his hand on Harry’s knee. It gave him a weird, pit-like feeling at he bottom of his stomach. Harry smiled up at the guy as he left. The knee-toucher turned to leave. And Louis could have sworn he called Harry “love”. He recognized that face. Nick Grimshaw. He’d gone to Harbor High, graduated a number of years before, but Louis knew that face. Nick was a legend on the swim team—one of the best they’d ever had—his name was still up on the records bored in the HH Natatorium. His All-American picture hung in the hallway. He’d been a top breaststroker, which was ironic considering Grimmy was as queer as a two dollar bill (again, not unlike Louis himself).

Shit, Louis thought. Did that mean…why was Harry spending time with him? The knee-touching? Was there something between the two? Louis’ stomach sank lower.

“Louis,” Harry said with a wide smile, standing up to greet him when he got closer. “Wasn’t sure if you’d show.”

“Harold, how dare you doubt me?” Louis held his hands up in offense. “I am a man of my word. I’m always fashionably late. I like to make an entrance, if you must know.”

Harry laughed, harder than he deserved. “I didn’t mean to offend. Is that for me?”

Louis nodded and handed over the latte. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, so I got you a latte.”

Harry took a sip and smiled. “Thanks a-latte.”

“You are such a dork,” he said, laughing. He hip-bumped Harry so he would know he was joking.

Harry shrugged, and the pair took a seat on the edge of the fountain. “What are you drinking?”

“Tea. I’m not really a coffee person.”

“I like that. I feel like tea drinkers are a different breed. Kind of like cat people.”

“I’m more of a dog person,” Louis answered honestly.

Harry frowned. Louis didn’t like to see a frown on his face. “I’m a cat person.”

Louis set his cup down beside him on the fountain’s ledge. Above them, the sun tried to peak through the thick clouds, creating an odd sort of haze around them. “This can never work, then.”

Harry’s frown deepened and he got, Louis noticed, a cute wrinkle between his eyes.

Louis kept his face somber for a moment. Harry’s ever-so-pink bottom lip twitched unhappily.

“I’m totally kidding,” Louis said with a laugh, as he picked back up his tea. “You’re very gullible, do you know that?”

“I am not,” Harry pouted, and it was clear he was trying to hide a smile. Dimples peaked out of his cheeks, betraying him.

Louis crossed his ankles and took a sip of his tea, blowing on it first to prevent a burnt tongue. There were few things more irksome than a burned tongue. “So, who was that you were talking to?” He tried to be casual about it. To his ears, it sounded like he’d succeeded.

“Oh, that’s just Nick.”

“Nick Grimshaw?”

Harry looked over at Louis, eyebrows raised. “Yeah. How do you know him?”

“He’s a bona fide legend on the Harbor swim team. Haven’t you seen his picture in the hallway by the pool? His All-American one?”

Harry shook his head, curls bouncing. “I’ve never been to the pool at school.”

“You can’t be serious. You would’ve had to for gym class.”

Harry nibbled on his lip. “I haven’t actually taken gym yet. Been putting it off.”

“Seriously? I got that over with freshman year. You’re going to be stuck taking it with all the underclassmen now.”

Harry continued to bite on his lips, looking nervous. Boy was going to start bleeding if he didn’t stop. “That’s kind of the point,” he mumbled, ducking his head so Louis couldn’t meet his eyes. “In case you haven’t noticed, the kids in our grade don’t like me very much.”

This time, it was Louis evading the eye contact.

Had he noticed? Yeah, of course he had. Sure, Louis wasn’t the sharpest crayon in the box, but he wasn’t a complete idiot—despite what his geography teacher might say (he _was_ going to amount to something one day. No matter what that son-of-a-bitch said). Louis had heard the names Ben and the others called him—heard the disgusting, homophobic slurs they threw at Harry. He knew Ben had beat up him and Liam after the gallery showing. He’d seen them trip Harry in the hallways at school, taunting him mercilessly. And every time, Louis just stood by and did nothing. He didn’t participate, but he didn’t try to stop it either. What did that say about him?

“Better go grab our clubs,” Louis said, standing up. “Don’t want to be late for tee-off.”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want that,” the curly one said quietly. Harry looked up at him, and Louis could have sworn he saw a flash of disappointment in those green eyes.

\- - -

Liam woke to hot breath on his ear. His eyes were still closed, and he was facedown in a pillow, the soft down collapsed under the weight of his head.

“Harry,” he grumbled, his voice partially muffled. “Please, just let me sleep. C’mon—I told you I’d meet you at the club later today. Go play your round. I’ll be there before you’ve finished.”

“Thanks, pumpkin,” a heavily accented voice whispered loudly in his ear. “But, I’m actually just here for the pool.”

Liam sat up quickly, in a tangle of blankets. Beside him on the bed was a red-cheeked, blonde-haired Irish kid.

“Niall?” Liam said, confused, as he rubbed the sleep out go his eyes. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Like I said, I’m here for the pool.” The boy stretched out, putting his hands behind his head and making himself comfortable.

“But, how did you even know where I live?”

“You told me you lived with the Styles’. And Aunt Mil knows where everyone who’s anyone lives. And, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the Styles’ are certainly somebodies in Newport. I figured rather than calling you, I’d just pop on over. So here I am.”

Liam wasn’t so sure that Niall’s statement was accurate. Mrs. Styles was a somebody—but that seemed to be more because she was a Cowell than anything else. And Harry was a self-admitted nobody. Just the thought of that made Liam sad. He turned his attention back to Niall. “Who let you in?”

“Mrs. Styles. She’s right fit. Made me breakfast too.”

This was a very weird thing to wake up to, Liam had to admit. An Irish boy in his bed (not that he was averse to having a boy in his bed—he just would have preferred a certain dark haired, olive skinned boy instead). Goofy blondes weren’t his type.

“Alright,” Liam said, as he threw aside the covers and rolled out of bed, dropping his bare feet to the cold wood floor. “Let’s hit the pool. Since that’s why you’re here. Just let me throw my trunks on. You don’t have a pool back at your place?”

“Nah, I mean, I had one back home in Mi—Mullingar. Only really got one season out of it there though, with it being so much colder. Aunt Mil doesn’t have one though. Figures, that when I finally live somewhere warm—no pool.”

Liam went into the bathroom to change, and brush his teeth.

“So I’m thinking,” Niall chattered on from the other room, “that we need to find some girls tonight at the party.”

Liam stepped out of the bathroom, toothbrush still in his cheek. “Whaad? ‘M not goin to any parties.” He returned to the bathroom to spit and rinse.

“‘Course you are, Li,” Niall insisted, still reclined on the bed, looking completely unbothered. “It’s the celebratory dinner for the champions.”

“That’s a dinner,” Liam’s voice echoed from the bathroom, as he pulled on his blue swim trunks.

“Nah, mate. Not really. I guess you’re newer around here than I realized.”

“You’re new around here too, you dickhead,” Liam said, as he threw a beach towel at Niall’s face, which the blonde boy deftly caught.

“Yeah, I’m new to Newport.” Niall chuckled, as he followed the other boy out the door and into the bright sunshine. “Get it—new to Newport?”

Liam didn’t really get it, but he nodded along anyway.

“But I’m not new to this scene. Different town, maybe, but the same people. And, maybe you haven’t noticed, but these people don’t really eat dinner. Or anything. The woman, at least.”

“Yeah, I picked up on that.”

“So when they say they are having a dinner, it’s really just a party. Drinks, apps, and dancing.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Liam said, flatly as he precariously climbed onto one of the floats in the pool. He was careful not to fall into the water as he lowered himself onto the warm plastic floater.

“Not this time, mate.” Niall slapped sunscreen on his cheeks, with such force it seemed to Liam that it must have stung.

“Bombs away!” Niall shouted, running to the pool and cannonballing in. So much for Liam trying to stay dry.

\- - -

“Fuck yeah, Curly!” Louis shouted, dropping his putter unceremoniously on the green. He rushed to Harry’s side and threw his arms around him. Harry wrapped his arms around Louis’ waist and breathed in his scent, as he momentarily rested his chin next to the teeny boy’s neck.

Louis Tomlinson smelled like lemons and fresh cut grass. Harry quietly filed that information away in his head.

They had won. They’d beat out the smug looking blonde pair, and now they were the junior club champions. Not too shabby.

They backed away from each other after a moment. Harry was surprised that he had been the first to let go. He could have stayed with Louis, arms wrapped around each other, memorizing his smell forever. But he didn’t want to scare Louis off just as he was beginning to make headway.

They stood on the 18th hole of the south course, grinning. Harry with his deep left dimple and slight right one. Louis with his shinning blue eyes that crinkled in the corners.

“Nice round, Harry,” a deep, familiar voice said from behind his left shoulder.

Harry turned around slowly, all too aware of what he would face. “Grandpa,” he said in his sluggish voice. “What are you doing here?”

“You know I’ve never missed a champions dinner. And I certainly couldn’t miss this one, with my grandson being the champion.”

“It wasn’t just me,” Harry mumbled, pushing down a divot with the spikes of his golf shoe. He focused on the loose dirt and grass, avoiding his grandfather’s face. “Louis was my partner.”

“Of course,” Simon said, patting his tall, green-eyed grandson on the shoulder. “Simon Cowell,” said to Louis, offering out his hand.

Louis shook the older man’s hand. “Louis Tomlinson, sir. I’ve heard much about you. It’s a pleasure.”

“Tomlinson. Is Mark Tomlinson your father?”

“Step-father,” Louis clarified, his tone cooling slightly. Not enough that Simon would have noticed. But Harry did.

“Great man, Mark. I’ve done a bit of business with him.”

Louis nodded, but didn’t say anything more.

“I’m heading back to see your mom, but I’ll see you tonight. Nice meeting you, Mr. Tomlinson.”

“You too,” Louis said, holding his hand up in a wave.

“So, that’s the famous Simon Cowell,” Louis said, once the man was out of earshot.

“Yep,” Harry said, as he rearranged his clubs back into his bag with one hand, using the other to block the afternoon sun out of his eyes.

“You don’t seem very enthused about him,” Louis pointed out.

“Yeah, well. I’m probably just as enthused about him as you seem to be about your step-dad.” Harry shot him a look that was intended to get Louis to drop the conversation—hitting him with a topic he clearly did’t want to broach, the same way Harry didn’t want to talk about his grandpa.

He climbed into the cart, on the passenger’s side, the top shading him from the sun. He crossed his arms and slouched down in the seat, until the tips of his over grown hair brushed the back of the seat.

Louis climbed beside him on the left. “Yeah, probably.” He turned the key in the cart and the battery whirred to life. “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours?”

Harry whipped his head so he was looking at Louis, taking in his profile as he slowly drove them back to the clubhouse, blue eyes focused on the green course.

_You show me yours, I’ll show you mine._ There was a thing or two Harry wanted Louis to show him. This was not one of them. But it was an opportunity—to get to know Louis better, and for Louis to see Harry clearer. He knew he’d be a fool to turn it down.

“He scares me. That’s the main thing. He treats people below him like they are below him. He hates my dad—treats him as if he is not good enough for my mom. Which is entirely unfair. My dad is a kind, wonderful man. As for my grandfather—there might be evil running through his veins, I don’t know. When you look at his eyes, there isn’t anything behind them. Nothing. It’s terrifying in the worst way.”

Harry paused, unsure if he wanted to continue. Unsure whether he should tell Louis the second part. But then the wind caught his hair, blowing curls in his face. It carried the smell of the ocean, salty—with the slightest hint of fishiness. And he thought of Tahiti. Of him and Louis on a boat. With the salt and the sun and the breeze. Cool blue water with eyes to match. Tan skin, slim ankles peaking out of boat shoes. Brown hair lightened by the sun.

“I also have the sneaking suspicion that he is homophobic. And so, anytime I’m around him, I’m always on edge. I can’t relax, can’t be myself.”

Louis pulled the car to a stop underneath the shade of a tree, off to the side of one of the holes, away from the path.

“So you are gay.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement.

Harry answered it like a question anyway. “Yeah. And I’m proud of who I am. I have nothing to be ashamed of. But that doesn’t mean I want to get into it with my grandfather. I face enough judgment everyday—why add to it?”

Harry prepared for Louis to drive the cart back to the cart drop. To not say anything. To leave his life as quickly as he entered it. He knew what the kids Louis hung out with were like—disgustingly, cruelly homophobic.

“Me too,” Louis said instead, quietly.

“You too, what?” Harry choked out, willing himself not to get his hopes up.

It was quiet out on the golf course, save an occasional, far away crack of a club impacting a ball. Nearby, a fountain in the middle of a man-made pond ran. Harry waited, his breath thick and hot where he held it in his lungs. He gave Louis the time to speak of his own volition.

“I’m gay too.” His words were soft. It sounded odd to Harry’s ears. Louis was usually loud, loud, LOUD. “And, you were right, about me feeling the same way about my step-dad that you feel about your grandfather.”

“Am I…” Harry began, before changing course. “Who else knows?”

“Zayn,” Louis said, turning to look at Harry.

“That’s all?”

“I think my mom suspects. And, obviously, so do the guys I’ve slept with. Oh, and Jesy Nelson.”

So, Louis wasn’t a virgin. There went some of Harry’s fantasies.

“But my step-dad, Mark,” Louis went on. “He is an awful son-of-a-bitch. Every prejudice you could imagine. Raciest, homophobic, ableist, and whatever the word is for being against people of different religions.”

Harry thought about Louis’ younger sisters—the older two, who went to Harbor Middle School, and the youngest ones, twins with crinkly smiles like Louis.

“Sexist?” Harry asked.

Louis visibly grimaced. “Jury’s still out on that one. But Mark is pretty much the reason I haven’t come out. I just don’t want to deal with his bullshit. He makes home miserable as it is—why add to that?”

The wind picked up again, blowing Harry’s curls over his eyes. Louis leaned over and pushed them away with his fingertips.

Harry shivered, and he wasn’t sure if it was from the wind, or Louis’ touch.

Harry grinned at Louis, his dimple showing. Louis smiled back, his eyes soft.

“Guess we better head back to the clubhouse,” Louis said, breaking eye contact. “Don’t want to be late to our victory dinner.”

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” Harry said quietly.

\- - -

“What’s the deal with Harry and that other bloke? The short one?” Niall asked, from where he floated beside Liam on what was usually Harry’s float.

“Louis?” Liam said, squinting. He wasn’t sure where Niall would have seen Louis. At the club, he supposed.

“If he’s the short, sort of angry looking one I saw Harry staring at with googly eyes the other day, than yeah.”

“I don’t know that I would describe Louis as angry looking,” Liam mused aloud. Though, he probably had a different gauge than Niall, considering where he had come from. He’d grown up surrounded by angry people.

“Yeah, it’s something in the way he walks. Purposeful, and like he’s ready to pick a fight. He doesn’t really walk. It’s more like a stride.”

“You’ve given this a lot of thought.”

Niall shrugged and made a noncommittal sound. “Not really. I don’t really know anyone around here so I have a lot of time on my hands. My preferred way to spend my time is to talk, but when I have no one to talk to I watch, and observe other people talking.”

Preferred way to spend time was talking? Yeah, Liam had noticed.

“Hey, Liam?” Niall said, his voice lowered.

“Yeah?” he grumbled.

“Does Harry have a sister you forgot to mention?”

Liam had his eyes closed, the black behind his lids tinted with the warmth from the sun. “No. Why?”

“Because there is an incredibly hot girl headed our way.”

Liam steered his float around, using his hands to paddle in the water to turn it. Niall wasn’t kidding. A rail thin brunette, with great legs and fit arms. Her hair was curly, with sunglasses resting on the top of here head. She wore a red string bikini, which left very little to the imagination.

“Hey fellas,” she said, as she strolled across the pool deck towards them.

Liam allowed him to count to seven and stare at the beautiful woman coming their way. Then he blinked and regained his manners. “Hey,” he said in the most chill tone he could manage.

“I’m Danielle,” she said, in a voice that had a musical, soothing quality to it. “I’m with Simon.”

Liam looked over at Niall. He had lost all chill. His mouth was ajar, and his eyes wide, focused straight ahead, unblinking. “You—You’re with Harry’s grandpa?” Niall stuttered out in disbelief. “You could be his new grandma.”

Beneath the surface of the water, Liam kicked the bottom of Niall’s float with his foot, purposefully. Niall seemed to snap out of it. Or at least he closed his mouth. Which was an improvement.

Danielle laughed. “It’s not really like that.”

Liam didn’t have time to ask what it was like, because Danielle dove gracefully into the water, her figure disappearing beneath the surface.

“Jesus Christ!” Niall shouted, to no one in particular. He managed to regain his composure before she surfaced, hair slicked back, nipples perky and visible beneath the thin fabric of her bathing suit.

“So, what’s up?” she asked, as she tread water between their two floats, holding onto the edge of each for support.

“He was, ummm,” Niall said, pointing at Liam.

“You were…”

“Talking about the, the thing,” Niall finished, his accent lighter than usual. Which seemed odd. Liam expected it to be more pronounced when Niall was uncomfortable or nervous.

“So this dinner tonight,” she asked. “It’s like a who’s who of Newport?”

“Yeah, something like that,” Liam muttered.

“So, who are you guys bringing?” Danielle looked between the two of them, her kind smile showing off her white, straight teeth. She had kind eyes. They reminded Liam of someone back in Chino.

“I would say no one, really,” Niall said. “I’m new here, just moved from Mullingar, Ireland. Don’t know anyone beside this goof right here, and Harry.”

“Yeah. The same.” Liam said.

“You’re kidding, right? There are no girls you want to bring. Or, guys. I don’t judge.” She focused the second part of the statement at Niall, who shook his head vehemently. “Two young, hot guys like yourselves?

“Nope, not me. On the guys end, I mean. Straight as an arrow, meself. Which is too bad, because I have noticed some very beautiful men around here—this one right here included.”

“His name is Zayn.” Liam said, surprising even himself.

Danielle swam over so her chin was resting on Liam’s float. “Have you asked him yet?”

“No.”

“He can’t say yes if you don’t ask her.” There she was with her kind eyes again, focusing into Liam’s. They were soft brown, just like his own.

“Eh, I don’t know. Things are complicated with him right now. His family’s sort of falling apart. And he has this girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend. I don’t really know. It’s a long story.”

Danielle made a sympathetic noise before swimming off.

\- - -

Zayn lay in bed, far past noon. He had never been one for waking up early. He was thinking about Liam and their night swim. How full and pink Liam’s lips had been. He’d had a bit of scruff. He wondered what it would be like to kiss someone with stubble. Have his own cheeks rubbed raw by it. He liked the idea of it. Maybe he would do a piece about it.

It was just as he was starting to formulate his next artwork in his mind that there was a knock on his bedroom door.

“Come in,” he mumbled, not bothering to sit up.

Through the door came Perrie. She was not who Zayn was expecting to see. He wasn’t sure who he had expected, but it was certainly not her.

“Perrie?” He sat up now, leaning back against his wooden headboard. “What are you doing here?”

“I wanted to apologize,” she said, as she made her way across the room, her flip-flops slapping on the hardwood floor. She had her blonde hair held back with a thick headband, and was wearing cutoff shorts and a simple white t-shirt. “I’ve been hard on you lately. And I think I’ve been taking you for granted.” She paused. “No, I don’t think, I know I have. I thought about this all last night. And then I talked it out with Jesy this morning.” Perry reached for his hand. He didn’t stop her. “You are so important to me. Such a big part of my life, and have been for so long. I need you, Z.”

“Perrie—” Zayn began.

“No, let me finish.” She squeezed his hand and he nodded. “I promise not to take you for granted anymore. I’ll treat you the way you deserve. We can take things slow. I know I have to earn back your trust. But I want to do this. For us.” Perry looked up at him with soft eyes, and he was reminded of the girl he’d crushed hard on in fifth grade. Of the girl who had been his first kiss. She had been the girl almighty to him back then. He’d forgotten that along the way.

“Okay.” Zayn said softly, his dark eyes meeting her light ones.

“Okay, what?”

“Okay, we can try again.”

Perrie’s face broke out in a brilliant smile that hit something deep inside him. He leaned forward and kissed her softly. It felt familiar and comforting.

“So you’ll go with me to the dinner tonight?”

Zayn nodded, brushing his lips against her milky white forehead.

“I’ll wear something special for you.”

They kissed again, long and deep. When they parted, Perrie got up, headed for the door.

“See you tonight,” she said with that brilliant, almighty smile again.

When she was gone, Zayn leaned back onto his mattress. What had just happened? He wasn’t sure he liked it, or what possessed him to agree with her. God, he was so fucked up, he thought.

\- - -

Liam sat at the grill bar, sipping on a coke while he waited for Harry to meet him. He was off doing some champion thing, Liam wasn’t really sure what—but anything that made Harry smile the way he was when he last saw him was awesome. He wasn’t sure where Niall had wandered off to, so for the moment, it was just him. It felt surreal, to be at a country club, wearing a suit, waiting to celebrate his new brother’s golf victory. Was that what Harry was, his brother? Or was he a step brother? That didn’t sound right. Half brother?

“Mind if I take this seat?”

Liam looked up to see Danielle, wearing a red dress that accentuated all the right places. She wore stilettos that made her legs look endless. Liam gulped down a sip of his drink.

“Go ahead.”

Danielle smiled as she slid onto the tall bar chair. “Buy me a drink?”

Liam cleared his throat. “I can’t, actually,” he said sheepishly.

“Right, you’re not legal. How about a cranberry juice?”

“That I can do.”

Liam flagged down Paul, the bartender and got Danielle’s juice for her.

“Thanks, doll,” she said with a wink, as she pulled a mini vodka bottle out of her purse and poured the contents into her cup, mixing it with the straw as she went along. “From the plane,” she explained. “I hate flying.”

“I’ve never been on a plane,” Liam admitted. He’d only been out of California once, when he was eight. His family had taken their first and only vacation to the Grand Canyon. He and Ed had worn matching Mickey Mouse t-shirts.

“The first time I was on a plane I was fifteen. My mom stuck me on a flight to Japan so I could dance over there. Ballet.”

“Fifteen?”

“Yeah, guess my mom thought it was easier to ship me off to make money than for her to get a job.”

“I can relate.”

She shot him a sad smile. “So I’ve heard.”

There was an awkward pause, as Liam tried to decide what to say next.

“How did the dancing turn out?”

“Well, you know. When you’re fifteen, living with a bunch of other teenage girls, and you have no supervision. Things got a little insane.” Danielle sipped her drink, the straw slipping through her bowed lips. “By the time I got clean, I was 22, and had fucked up my knee. No more dancing for me.”

Liam nodded, having heard similar stories too often before, back in Chino. His mom’s wasn’t terribly unlike hers, except she’d gotten pregnant instead of a bum knee. So it could have been worse.

“You must think its weird, me with an older guy,” she rested her arm on the back of her seat, and her chin on her shoulder, turned sideways so she could see Liam better.

“I live in a pool house,” he said frankly. He was not one to judge. People in glasshouses and all.

“I think someone wants to talk to you,” she said, cocking her head towards the door.

Zayn. He focused his eyes on Liam, then tilted his head towards the door.

“I should probably…”

“Go, talk to your boy.” Danielle said, with a knowing smile.

“He’s not..”

“Not yet.” She winked and turned to her phone, scrolling through what Liam was surprised to see was the CNN app.

Liam followed the direction Zayn had headed, walking through the clubhouse and out the back until they were standing next to a marble fountain.

Zayn looked flawless. His dark lashes seemed longer and fuller somehow. His hair was slicked back like it had been that night at the gallery. He wore a tailored navy suit with a Burberry plaid tie.

“You’ve got a minute?” Zayn asked.

Liam nodded. “What’s up?” He had a feeling he knew what was coming.

“I was meaning to call you. I figured you should here it from me…” he said.

“You and Perrie are back together,” Liam said flatly. He should have known.

“Not yet. But she wants to.”

“And what did you say?” Liam asked, as he took a seat on the edge of the fountain. He focused his eyes on the rolling green hills around them.

“I told her I’d think about it—take it slow.”

Liam nodded, his palms resting flat on his thighs. He squeezed, trying to stay calm.

“I don’t know what I should do,” Zayn admitted.

“I don’t know either.” Liam looked over at him, meeting his eyes. “Look, if you came here for me to help you choose—I can’t do that.”

“That’s not why…” Zayn trailed off, running his finger through his hair.

“Good.”

There was a pause, which seemed to go on forever. Neither of them seemed to know what to say. Don’t be soft, Liam told himself. 

“Why don’t you just let me know when you’ve made up your mind, okay?” Liam said, channeling Ed.

Zayn nodded, pushed his hands deep into the pockets of his pants and walked away.

Liam watched him go. Let him walk away.

\- - -

Zayn needed Louis. He was the only one who could sort him out—the only person who knew Zayn better than he knew himself. He found him with Harry Styles, posing for pictures with the Junior Club Champion trophy.

“Lou,” Zayn called from the doorway of the library, a room that seemed to only ever be used for photo ops such as this. It remained empty, dark and musty the rest of the time.

Louis looked over, laughing at something Harry had said. Zayn caught his eye, and he nodded. He whispered something to Harry before coming over to Zayn.

“What’s up, Z?”

Zayn grabbed hold of Louis’ wrist, tugging him along.

“Whoa, Zayn. Slow down.”

Zayn didn’t slow down. He just dragged Louis behind him, picking up the pace if anything. They rounded the corner, cutting it so close, Louis’ elbow knocked into the wall.

“Ouch.”

He was fine, Zayn knew that and chose to ignore his best friends whining. He guided them to the first floor, wheelchair accessible bathroom off the library that no one ever used. Inside, he flipped on the lights, bolted the door and collapsed onto the love seat which inexplicably occupied one wall of the room. The walls themselves were papered in a soothing cream with a floral border—small buds, just beginning to open.

“You know, if you wanted to get me alone, you could have just asked,” Louis said, leaning back against the sink, his ankles crossed. Zayn noticed he wasn’t wearing any socks. Typical Louis. “You’re not really my type—but lately I haven’t been too picky. You’ll do for the moment.”

“Lou,” Zayn said, his voice soft and pleading.

Louis immediately dropped his smug slut act. “What’s wrong?” Louis’ blue eyes softened, the edges completely devoid of wrinkles for once, in the way they only ever were when he was being serious.

Zayn fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, adjusting the buttons there. He didn’t know how to start—how to say what he needed to. He wasn’t a talker—he usually let other people do that for him, only interjecting when he felt compelled to. That was part of the reason he and Louis were such a good pair—Louis liked to talk, and Zayn was happy to listen.

“Is this about Pezza?” Louis asked.

“Sort of. In a way. She wants to get back together.”

“But, you said she didn’t make you happy.”

“I know, but—“

Louis shook his head. “But what, Zayn?”

Zayn took a deep breath and let it slowly out his nostrils. “I—how did you—do you know Liam?”

“Baby Boston? Yes, I believe its been established that we’re acquainted.” Louis was leaning against the sink, his perfectly round, plump butt framed in the gold gilded mirror behind him.

“I think I’m—I don’t really know—interested in him, I guess.” Zayn talked in starts and stops, which was unusual for him. His sentences were typically more careful, better constructed. His mind felt all out of sorts.

“Saw that coming,” Louis said with a laugh, as he pulled a bottle of hair spray off the sinks ledge. He took the top off the old school AquaNet, shaking it firmly before spraying a layer onto his quiff. “Well, now that we’ve established that—what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know,” Zayn moaned, rubbing his hands down his face. “I don’t know. I like being around him. He intrigues me. But then there’s Perrie. I’ve been with her forever. We have history.”

“I know. She’s comfortable.”

Zayn nodded.

“But Z, comfortable doesn’t mean right. Remember that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come find me on tumblr as alltoowellmoments, if you want to chat about this, or anything else.
> 
> And let me know if I did alright with Louis' POV, since I finally did that switch.
> 
>  
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> xx Allie


	10. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this took me so long! School/finals got in the way, but it's summer now, so, yay! And that means I'll be updating regularly now, so double yay!
> 
> Shout out to my awesome beta Flynn, and to LuLu and Bridget, per usual. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented, kudos, messaged me on tumblr or read this. I love you all!!  
> So here's chapter ten...

Chapter Ten

  


When Louis Tomlinson stepped out of the handicapped bathroom withZayn, he headed back to the library in search of one gangly, curly headed boy.

He found him beside the fireplace, with a slender hand resting on his elbow.

The knee-toucher was now an elbow toucher. _Nick Grimshaw._

Harry was leaning into him, laughing at something he’d said. Louis’ tie felt tight all of the sudden, his neck itchy and hot. Why the fuck did they have a fireplace running in southern California in August, he couldn’t help but wonder. Louis’ eyes narrowed, and his teeth closed down on the inside of his cheek, drawing blood. Was Harry playing games? Did this mean maybe he was interested? Fine, Harry wanted to play games? He could play games too.

“Hey, Harold!” Louis called across the room, his hands cupped around his mouth to amplify his voice.

Harry turned in his direction, still smiling. He walked over, with Nick in tow. Louis frowned.

“Nick, I want you to meet my co-champion, Louis Tomlinson.”

The older guy gave Harry a look, a side glance with a smile.

Louis could feel his tie tighten around his neck, even more like a noose. He really couldn’t explain why, since he really had no interest whatsoever in frog boy Harry Styles.

“Nice to meet you, Louis,” Nick said, reaching out with his right hand, while the other rested on the small of Harry’s back.

Louis’ eyes zeroed in on the older man’s left hand placement, so much so that he completely missed his aim when he went in for the handshake. It took two tries before their hands finally met in greeting.

“Charmed, I’m sure,” Louis said in a terse voice. He knew he was being rude, but he didn’t care.

He lifted his eyes from Harry’s back, up to Nick’s face. His eyes, much to Louis’ delight, were brown. Plain, common. Not like his own blue ones.

He was being petty now, and he knew it. But even though he recognized that, he couldn’t seem to control himself.

For the rest of the night, as he and Harry flitted from old person to older person, being showered with congratulation, Louis flirted. Men, women, didn’t matter who. Harry chatted about the tournament. Louis batted his eyelashes stood strategically sideways so his ass was on full display, and laughed at every lame pun and flat joke he was told. And they were charmed. The 20-something guys, gay and straight. The middle-aged women with their tight buns and pearls. The thirty year old professionals, with their loose curls and fitted pencil skirts. Louis smiled his crinkle-eyed smile, and they smiled back. Each time he did, he would glance over at Harry, looking for a reaction. He got none. Harry was as tight lipped as ever, more so than usual, actually. When he talked, he seemed to speak painfully slow, worse than usual. His stories went nowhere, and he would trail off at the end of sentences, abandoning them completely.

* * *

Niall had been right. This wasn’t a dinner.

Liam was growing increasingly agitated. Harry was busy making the rounds with Louis and looking miserable while doing it (what was up with that? He had been expecting Harry to spend the night struggling to contain his grin. Instead, Harry looked stone face and grim). For awhile, Liam had hung with Niall near the kitchen door so they could be first to get dibs on the appetizers that came through the door on silver trays carried by waiters. But the apps had stopped coming an hour ago. It seemed that was the end of the food. Niall hand wandered off in search of more food. Liam hadn’t seen him since then.

He had, however, seen Zayn. With Perrie. Looking gorgeous and, possibly even happy. When finally, he couldn’t take it anymore, Liam left the ballroom, wandering off in search of a respite from the “dinner”.

He found the solitude he wanted in a room tucked away on the other side of the clubhouse. It was a library, with a roaring fire and shelves of dusty, worn looking books. Scanning the titles, Liam noticed that most of them were either about golf or the history of Orange County.

He lowered himself down into one of the wing backed leather chairs, leaned back, and closed his eyes.

“Guess I’m not the only one who needed a break.” Danielle’s voice came from somewhere over his left shoulder.

Liam slowly opened his eyes, not sure how much time had passed since he had sat down. The fire was still going, the flames licking at the fake logs.

Danielle perched herself on the ottoman at his feet, and looked up at him from beneath her lashes. God, she was beautiful, he couldn’t deny that.

“Won’t Simon miss you?”

“Probably. But he was in the middle of work talk. You know, he’s the boss, and every relationship is a business relationship to him.”

“Even yours?”

Danielle sighed, her eyes drifting around the room. “He’ll only ever really love one woman. And she passed away years ago. For now, he’s just looking to stay entertained. To keep from being bored.” Here, she looked right at Liam. “But aren’t we all?”

Her hand inched up his leg, working its way up his thigh, until it rested between his leg. “I am so bored,” she whispered, her voice thick.

Liam shifted under her hand, trying toalleviate the situation. But he shifted the wrong way, so her hand ended up cupping him. “Don’t you think…” he began, trailing off as Danielle moved herself off the ottoman and onto his chair, so she was straddling him, her hand still holding him steady.

“Don’t think.” She took his bottom lip between her teeth, tugging gently. Liam kissed her back, weaving his fingers into her hair. She unbuckled his pants with deft fingers, their lips never parting. His hands found their way under his dress, the skirt hiking up as he did so.

Then the door opened, with a loud jangling of the knob. Both Danielle and Liam looked up, to see Zayn, standing in the doorway, looking suddenly flustered. “I’m sorry..” He stuttered, his eyes still zeroed in on the couple. “I thought…” He shook his head. “Sorry.” He muttered one last time before slamming the door behind him as he escaped the situation.

\- - -

He was such a fucking idiot. Why did he tell Perrie he’d try again? Why did he not kiss Liam that night in the pool? They were so close, no one was around. It would have been the perfect opportunity. Now Zayn wasn’t sure he would get that chance again.

He jogged through the hallways of the clubhouse, not sure where he was going, or what he was looking for. His face felt warm, and there was a pressure built up behind his eyes.

He slowed when he got to the ballroom, spotting Perrie almost immediately. She was over near the stage, where the band was playing. No one was dancing yet (not enough drinks in them). Ben and Jesy were with her. Zayn rushed over to them.

“Hey babe,” Perrie greeted him when he entered her sight. He grabbed her face between his hands and kissed her, hard and deep.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said gruffly. She nodded, taking his hand as he led them through the crowd and out to the parking lot.

Perrie tossed her slip to the valet attendant, who jogged to grab the Jeep. She wound her arms around his waist, kissing his neck lightly. “We could go to my place. My parents are in Palm Springs for the weekend.”

Zayn looked down her, so small and petite and blonde, her eyes wide. He knew what she was implying. He may have been in a weird place at the moment, but the meaning had not been lost on him. “Yeah, sure.”

He had a condom in his wallet that Louis had forced onto him at the start of summer, insisting he would be more likely to get laid if he was prepared. Zayn hadn’t argued—he had just been relieved to see Louis making any sort of reference to being safe. It made him believe (or, rather, hope) that Louis, too, was being safe when he got laid.

When the valet pulled the car around, Perrie smiled at him seductively before driving them out of the parking lot and into the dark night.

\- - -

Louis found Harry by the fountain out back. He was sitting on the edge, with his legs pulled up and his head resting on his knees.

“What are you doing out here? I need you to make the rounds with me.”

Harry looked up, lifting his head slightly. He was illuminated by the light of the fountain. It made his curls look like they had a glow to them, like he was wearing a halo. “You know what, Louis? No.”

“What?”

“This whole night, all you’ve done is use me to meet-slash-flirt with rich older people.”

“That’s not true,” Louis protested, his hand on his hip. Okay, maybe it was a little true. But Harry had started it, with his whole thing with Nick Grimshaw.

“Do you know how pathetic it is,” Harry continued, “To watch you flirt and laugh and bat your eyelashes while some guy stares at your ass?” Harry looked down at the grass, dejected.

“Wait, what guy was staring at my ass?”

Harry stood up, rolling his eyes at Louis as he did so. “Who cares, Louis? The point is, that guy doesn’t know you. He doesn’t care about who you really are. In fact, he has no idea that every day, in third grade, you shared your lunch with that little skinny squirrel whose nuts were stolen by a fat squirrel.”

Louis took a step back, surprised and confused. He hadn’t thought about that squirrel in years. “I hated that mean squirrel.”

Harry ignored him and pushed on, like a ball gaining speed as it rolled down a hill, unable to stop. “None of those people were there when you read your poem aloud in class, and your hand was shaking because you were so nervous.”

Now, Harry had lost him. “Poem? What Poem?”

Harry looked away, as he muttered, “I wish I was a mermaid.”

“Wait,” Louis reached out a hand to stop Harry from turning away. “You remember that?” Harry nodded, his head down. “That was, like, fourth grade.”

Harry squinted his eyes and grimaced. Louis let go of him. If Harry didn’t want to stay here, then he wasn’t going to make him.

“I wish I was a mermaid, and was friends with all the fish,” Harry began reciting. Louis looked up at him through new eyes. How the fuck did he remember this? Or, rather, why the fuck did her remember this? It was flattering, to say the least. Sure, Louis liked to be the center of attention, but this was the first time that he could remember someone paying attention to him when he hadn’t been asking for it. And in fourth grade, he most definitely had not been asking for it. “A shiny tail and seashells,” Harry went on. “That’s—“

Louis didn’t let him finish. In an instant, he was on Harry, is hands on either side of his face as he kissed him, firmly, surely. Harry kissed back. Louis had to admit, he was surprised at how good of a kisser the gangly baby giraffe turned out to be. With the lack of coordination Harry seemed to exhibit on land, Louis had been expecting something similar. But he was glad he was wrong.

When they finally separated, Harry looked dazed, his pupils wide in his green eyes, his lips still parted. Louis was smiling.

He looked as if he wanted to say something, but was unable to form the words. Louis beat him to it.

“I’d better go. Don’t want to leave the adoring masses inside hanging.” Louis smiled at Harry kindly. “Don’t worry, I can make the rounds myself.”

With that, he turned on his heel and sauntered back to the clubhouse, to the ballroom, grinning the whole time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come talk on tumblr if you so wish, I'm alltoowellmoments there.
> 
> xx,
> 
> Until next time


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is another short chapter, because it really should have been part of the last one. 
> 
> Thanks as usual to the fabulous Flynn, the brilliant Bridget, and the lovely LuLu.
> 
> And to all of you who are reading this, who are still with me. We still have so far to go, so let's get to it, shall we?

Chapter Eleven

“Best. Dinner. Ever.” Harry whispered to himself, his fingers on his lips, which were still tingling with the ghost of Louis’. He watched him saunter away, his perfect ass swaying ever so slightly.

He felt like somebody should slap him. Had Louis Tomlinson really just kissed him? Maybe he would never wash his lips again. Did people even wash their lips in general? He supposed they got clean during face washing or teeth brushing, but he couldn’t remember ever specifically scrubbing his lips. And now, he never would.

They’d kissed. And it had been wonderful. Better than Harry could’ve imagined. And he knew that for a fact, because he’d imagined it countless times. Louis lips had been small and soft. The stubble from his face had scratched against Harry’s baby smooth one. Louis had been up on his tip-toes to reach Harry. There was something about that that Harry found so hot.

Fuck. He needed to talk about this with someone. He needed to find Liam.

Harry allowed himself to skip a few steps on his way back to the clubhouse, composing himself before he entered the building. He stopped the skipping, but he couldn’t help the smile that broke across his face. He knew his dimples were showing, but he didn’t care. He was so happy that, not only had Louis kissed him, but he also had an actual friend to talk about it with. He had more than a friend, actually. He had a Liam.

\- - -

Liam needed to get out of this god-forsaken clubhouse. Of course, he had no way of leaving. Niall was nowhere to be seen. Harry was off with Louis somewhere. And he didn’t have his bike.

And so he sat, on the top of the marble staircase that led from the locker rooms down to the ballroom. He hid himself partially behind one of the bannisters, in the shadows, so if someone passed by, they wouldn’t immediately see him.

“Hi.” It was Danielle, again.

He just wanted to be left alone. He looked sideways at her, nodding slightly in acknowledgement.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like Danielle. She had been nothing but kind, and understanding, and open with him. Plus, she was like him—not from around here. She got it in a way Niall and Harry never could because of where they were born. But right at that moment, he didn’t want to talk to anyone.

“I guess he likes you.”

Liam shook his head. “I guess he did.”

“Oh,” She sighed, taking a seat beside him. “You look so sad. I… I’d give anything to be that miserable.”

Liam looked over at her, not comprehending. Why would anyone want to be miserable? He blinked a few times, trying to process.

“Because, if I remember correctly,” she went on, “that’s what it feels like to be in love.”

He looked up at the ceiling, avoiding her gaze. His eyes felt warm, with a hot pressure building. He blinked some more, willing the tears to go away without falling. Danielle smiled at him sadly, ruffled his hair, once, before getting up. He watched her descend the stairs, her heels clicking firmly on the marble of the steps. Her legs seemed to get longer the further from him she got.

He was miserable. But maybe there was something he could do to fix that. He knew he had to at least try. If he didn’t try, he’d only be more miserable.

\- - -

“Is this okay?” Perrie asked, as she kissed her way down Zayn’s chest, trailing with her tongue lower.

Zayn nodded, even though he knew Perrie couldn’t see from her position. “Yeah,” he breathed, closing his eyes at the sensation of her tongue licking up the sensitive underside of his cock.

She kissed her way back up, teasing him. The room smelled thick of vanilla scented candles. It was dark aside from the flickering light they gave off. The warmth cast shadows across Perrie’s face, which was hovering just over his own.

“Do you want—?” she asked, her eyes soft on his.

He bit on his bottom lip and nodded. “Yeah.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Should I get a condom?”

“I’ve got it.”

Perrie rolled off of him, onto the white bedspread beside him. He reached for his pants, discarded on the floor. The belt jangled in its loops as he searched the pockets for his wallet. He opened it, plucking out the condom from where Louis had tucked it next to his folded bills.

“Ready?” Perrie asked as Zayn returned to the bed. Her hair was mussed, hanging in wild, unruly waves. Her pupils were dilated, and she smiled at him, that almighty smile.

“Sure,” Zayn said. He cupped her chin, tilting it up so her lips met his.

He’d said he was sure. But he wasn’t.

\- - -

Harry found Liam out front, by the valet stand, smoking a cigarette.

“You know, you really shouldn’t do that,” Harry said. “Those things will kill you.”

Liam took a drag and turned his hand over, looking at it from both sides, with the cigarette pinched between his fingers. “Yeah? That’s okay. I think after tonight, I’m cool with living a few less years.”

Harry pursed his lips, making a sucking noise as he thought over Liam’s statement. “Well, I wouldn’t be. You’re already older than me, so, statistically speaking, you’ll probably die before me anyways. And then who will I talk to about the fact that the love of my life kissed me?”

Liam dropped his cigarette into the planter next to the valet stand. “Louis? You and Louis kissed?”

“Yes,” Harry squealed. He genuinely squealed. But he didn’t care a bit. He was floating through the room in a big balloon and no one was going to pop his happiness. No. No, no, no. “But not just that. Louis Tomlinson, namesake of my boat, kissed _me. He. Kissed. Me._ ”

“That’s great, man. How did this happen?”

“See, that’s the thing. I don’t know. I still don’t know,” Harry spun in a circle, arms out, head tilted towards the starless sky. “It came out of nowhere. Not that I’m complaining—because I’m not.” He laughed to himself, and it came out a giggle. The wind picked up, blowing his curls around and Harry took a few skips just for good measure.

“How about we head home, and you tell me all about it,” Liam suggested, tilting his head in the direction of the parking lot.

“Yes. Absolutely. And let’s get ice cream on the way home. This feels like an ice cream kind of night.”

“Thank god,” Liam said as he matched strides with the other boy, both of them heading in one direction to the car. “I’m starving. I was misled when you all said we were going to a dinner. That was not a dinner. A dinner involves food, and, in my experience, far less angst.”

Harry wasn’t sure what Liam was referring to there, and normally, he would have pressed for details. But at that moment, Harry wanted to live in bliss for just a little longer.

\- - -

Later that night, after Harry had passed out on the bed in the pool house, hopped up on ice cream and teenage romance, Liam let himself out, sitting with his back against the brick of the building. He lit up another cigarette, hoping Alberto wouldn’t see the glowing ember from the house and come out to investigate. It had been part of the deal they had made—Liam got to live with the Styles’, but he would stay out of trouble, and he would quit smoking. At least he was holding up one end of the deal that night. He had been doing good with the no smoking. But after the night he’d had, he needed to feel that soothing lightheadedness only a cigarette could provide.

He was overlooking the Malik’s house, with a good view of their driveway. It wasn’t purposeful positioning—just happened to be what his pool house overlooked.

The red glow of brake lights came into view just as he was lighting up his second one. He stubbed it out, no longer craving the nicotine rush. It was Perrie’s distinctive Jeep. Until that moment, Liam hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for it. For _him_. But that was exactly what he had been doing.

Zayn climbed out, alone, his suit jacket folded over one arm. Perrie rolled down the passenger window, and, though Liam couldn’t see her, he could hear her just fine.

“I love you,” she called to Zayn, as she began to creep the car in reverse down the drive.

A pause.

The car slowed.

“Love you too,” Zayn said back, his voice not nearly as sure as Perrie’s had been. He held a hand out in goodbye, and turned towards the house. He didn’t watch her go.

This was his chance.

Liam hopped over the fence easily, and raced down the hill, reaching Zayn before he had a chance to put the key in the lock.

Zayn turned when he heard the footsteps behind him.

Liam stopped a few feet away, out of breath.

Zayn stared for the length of two moments. Then he sighed.

He took in the sight of Zayn, now that he was up close. His shirt was wrinkled and unbuttoned to reveal his white undershirt. He had a distinctive hickey right above his collarbone, near the neckline of his shirt. His hair was a mess, and not in that careless, artful way.

Zayn shook his head sadly, his eyes still on Liam’s. “You’re too late.”

He turned and went for the door, not looking back again.

Liam stayed on the stoop, watching the closed door the boy had just walked through. In that moment, he wished he’d never come to Newport. He had never felt this miserable when he was in Chino.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos give me life! The make my little writer heart pitter-patter and my stomach flip in a way only Larry can usually incite. 
> 
> If you want to chat about the story, hypothesize about the new updated setlist, or anything else really, you can find me on Tumblr as alltoowellmoments. Come say hi--I promise I don't bite (unless you're into that...)
> 
>  
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> xx Allie


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a longer chapter, so I guess I am officially back! Thanks as always to Flynn, for his wise feedback. To Bridget for reading and discussing. And to LuLu.
> 
> As always, thank you to all you lovelies for reading my little story, and for all of your feedback. You are truly. the best!
> 
> We're off to Tijuana!

Chapter Twelve

“We’re leaving for Tijuana, don’t know when we’ll be back again. Oh Zayn, we need to go,” Louis sang as he threw the door to his best friends’ room open. The Malik’s housekeeper loved Louis, and always let him in without checking with anyone first. And Louis loved her for that. It made singing wake-ups like today’s possible.

  


\- - -

“The plan is undeniable,” Harry insisted, as he followed Liam from the pool deck and into the cool air of the kitchen.

“I’m denying it.” Liam said flatly, still walking, not bothering to look back at Harry.

“We have my mom’s Range Rover. We have a perfect alibi, as I go to this comic-book convention every year,” Harry was counting off the reasons on his comically large hands as he went. “And, we also have my entire life of me never doing anything wrong, which has completely lulled my parents into a false sense of trust.”

Liam turned around, his hands on the smooth granite of the island. He leaned over so he was in Harry’s face, from where he stood on the other side. “And you want to throw all that away for Louis and tequila shots? You could get the same thing if you went to Ben Winston’s house on a Friday night.”

Harry had his head tilted to the side, looking at Liam as if he expected him to go on. Liam was waiting for Harry to answer his question.

“Oh. I’m sorry,” Harry got at last. “I thought that was a rhetorical question. But the answer is yes, Liam, yes.” At this Liam turned around, apple from the fruit bowl in hand, and headed back the way he’d come. Harry kept talking. “On the last weekend before school, one goes to Tijuana. It is tradition. And it is a rite of passage. And, you know what else? What happens in Mexico, stays in Mexico.”

Liam paused, his hand on the door. “What happens in Mexico?”

“I don’t know,” Harry said slowly. Slower than usual. “It stays there. That is why we must go.”

Liam turned around, crossed his arms, and leaned against the counter. Harry was like a dog on a bone with this. Although, Liam still believed that he was part cat. So maybe more like a cat on catnip. “I don’t know about lying to your parents.” The Styles’ had been kind enough to take him in. And he rather liked it here. If he fucked it up, he wasn’t sure where he would go.

Harry nodded, as if what Liam was saying made total sense. Liam relaxed a bit, relieved he was getting Harry to see something beyond visions of Louis dancing on a bar in Mexico, sweaty and shirtless. “I can respect that. I will lie to them.”

Liam bit into his apple, juice running down his chin. “I thought we already established that you cannot lie. You are the worst liar I’ve met. Why can’t we just go to Comicon? I’ve never gone—it might be kind of cool.”

“No,” Harry said flatly, shaking his head adamantly. “Comicon is a bunch of pathetic virgins ogling some porn star dressed up as Catwoman.”

Liam crunched his apple again. “I thought you went every year.”

Harry ignored Liam’s dig and took a few steps towards him, lowering his voice as he went. “Listen. Tijuana’s a big town. I’m sure you won’t even see Zayn. Also, are you ever going to tell me about what happened there?”

Up until this point, Liam had been able to avoid the whole Zayn/Danielle drama. Harry had been so excited about Louis and the kiss, it was all he had talked about for days. He knew he could only put it off so long.

“Well, Zayn told me that he and Perrie were maybe going to get back together. Then he walked in on Danielle and me hooking up. And it upset him, I guess.”

“Time out!” Harry made the sign of a T with his hands. “Danielle as in my maybe future grandma?”

“Yeah.”

“Dude. That’s—well, actually, that’s kind of hot? How was it?”

“Kind of hot.”

“Hmm, interesting. In a disturbing way. Back to TJ—you won’t have to see Zayn.”

That was not what this was about. “I don’t care about seeing Zayn, or not seeing Zayn.”

“Okay, therefore, you should have no problem coming to Mexico, right?”

Crunch. More juice on his chin. He wiped it away sloppily with the sleeve of his hoodie. “Well, won’t he be hanging out with Louis?”

Harry was struggling with a banana now, as if Liam’s apple had inspired him. He peeled down one part, but was now, for some reason, struggling with the other. Liam supposed baby giraffes didn’t eat bananas. “No, he’ll probably be shacked up with Perrie.” Harry slowly looked up from his half-peeled banana, realizing his mistake. His eyes were wide, and Liam leveled him with an even look. “Yeah, I’m sorry. That was probably a bit painful.”

Liam puffed out his cheeks, then released the air in a long breath. He took the banana from Harry’s clumsy hands and swiftly peeled it the rest of the way.

“Hey fellas,” Alberto said cheerfully, as he strode into the room, his footsteps surprisingly light for a man his size. “You all excited about Comicon? Harry’s been going since he was ten. It’s the highlight of his year.”

“Thanks. Highlight’s a bit overstating it,” Harry muttered, his eyes on the ground. He was wearing a Rolling Stones T-shirt, with a Green Bay Packers beanie on his head, containing his curls. The unruly ends of his hair still peaked out from beneath the cap.

“So, how soon until you two are leaving on your trip?” Alberto asked, as he inserted a pod into the Keurig and waited for his cup to brew.

“I don’t know,” Harry said, giving Liam a pointed look, his voice exaggerated. “How soon?”

“Tomorrow,” Liam sighed.

Harry, as usual, was doing a poor job containing his grin. “Don’t you mean, _mañana?”_

__

_\- - -_

Later that day, Harry found Liam in the pool house, napping. He tossed the sombrero he was holding onto the sleeping boy. It landed perfectly over his face. Harry wished someone else had been there, to appreciate his good aim. He’d found the sombrero in the attic, leftover from the cinco de mayo party his mom had thrown a few years back.

Liam sat up quickly, startled, the hat crooked on his head. He relaxed when he realized it was just Harry.

“That’s a good look on you.”

“I don’t wear hats,” Liam said sleepily, taking it off and setting it beside him on the bed.

“Liam, don’t you mean, _sombrero_? You really need to brush up on your Spanish,” Harry held out the book he had been reading all afternoon. “There’s over five-hundred useful phrases in here.”

Liam opened it to a random page and read aloud. “May I please see a ladies’ worsted nylon bathing suit?” He looked at Harry skeptically.

Harry simply nodded his head along, refusing to give in to Liam. “Yeah. Well, did you know that one?” Liam rolled his eyes.

“Moving on,” Harry handed Liam the paper he’d been holding.

“What’s this?” Liam studied it, his eyes running over the freshly printed page.

“An itinerary for our trip.”

“Harry. It’s twelve pages long,” he said flatly.

“We’re going for two days.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I figured if you are going to get over Zayn, you are going to need activities.”

Liam tossed the paper onto the bed, along with the discarded sombrero. “Harry, I don’t need to get over Zayn. I’m over Zayn.”

Liam got up, heading for the bathroom. Harry jumped in front of his path, preventing further movement. “Liam, Liam. This is me you’re talking to.” Harry placed his hands on Liam’s chest, then on his own. “ _Amigo._ Now, I know you’re hurting, and I think you need to unburden your soul.” Harry moved out of his way and sat down on the bed. He moved aside the sombrero and itinerary. (Was that a Spanish word in origin? Harry made a mental note to check later, once he was done unburdening Liam’s soul. Which could potentially take a while. He knew that Liam was a good person, but he had this feeling that there was a lot of dark deep down inside him that had developed during his first sixteen years of life.) He patted the now vacant space next to him. Liam didn’t move, just watched. Harry patted the space again, a bit more urgently this time. “Any time, I’m here to help.”

“My soul is fine, Harry. Zayn and me—it just never would have worked out.”

\- - -

“It just—I don’t know. It never would have worked,” Zayn sighed, collapsing backwards on the bed. Louis was sitting on the couch in his bedroom, his tupperware container of weed on the table as he packed a bowl.

“No kidding. It is so much better this way. He’s all like, brooding, wounded, ‘somebody save me’.”

“I thought you liked that,” Zayn said, as he popped open a bag of potato chips.

“Right now, it is too hot to save anyone. Lighter.”

Zayn dove for his bedside table, feeling through the drawer for the lighters he kept there. He bypassed the new box of condoms he’d purchased, since he could no longer depend on Louis for them. Really, he never should have relied on the stray condom his best friend had forced upon him. And it seemed now he would be needing more than just one. He tossed the lighter over to Louis, who deftly caught it in his left hand, while holding the neatly packed bowl steady in his other. Louis raised it to his lips, and lit it up.

“Speaking of hot,” Louis said, holding the smoke in his lungs as he passed the bowl over to Zayn. “I can’t believe you and Perrie.” He exhaled. “You guys did it. I’ve been waiting forever for this. You have to tell me everything. How tight was she? How long did it last?”

“Louis!”

“Did you get her to come?”

“Louis,” Zayn hissed, blowing smoke through his teeth. “I am not going to be that guy.”

“What guy?”

“You know, the guy who has sex with a girl and then tells stories about it in the locker room.”

“When have you ever been in a locker room?”

“That’s not the point.”

Louis rolled his eyes and leaned back on the couch with the bowl, relighting it and taking a long hit. “Don’t be such a prude, Z. This is me, we’re talking about—not the whole water polo team. But it was a letdown, huh? Was over quick? Totally awkward?”

“Well, it’s not like I have anything to compare it too,” he traded Louis the bowl for the bag of potato chips.

“So, do it again,” Louis said through a mouthful of chips, as if this was the obvious answer. “It is _way_ better the second time.”

“Well, I’m supposed to go over to her place this afternoon. Her parents are out of town again.”

“Trust me, Z,” Louis said, as Zayn looked at him over the bowl as he took another hit. “Get back on that horse.” Here, Louis stood up, holding the bag of chips closed, he raised it over his head, spinning it like a lasso. “You’ve gotta giddyup!”

“Shhhh, Lou, be quiet.” Louis was honestly the loudest person Zayn knew. “My sisters are home.”

Louis fell back onto the couch, collapsing in a fit of giggles, spilling chips everywhere.

Zayn wasn’t even sure he wanted to get back on the proverbial horse—though, on wasn’t the correct phrasing in this situation—in would be more fitting. Regardless, the thought of having sex with Perrie again did not stir anything inside him. Or lower.

\- - -

Liam and Harry went to a seafood place on the boardwalk for dinner. Liam rode his bike, Harry went on his Razor scooter. He also wore a helmet with it, as he was far from being the most coordinated of people.

“I always wanted to be one of those kids who rode a skateboard around, you know?” Harry said, as a floppy haired boy on a board whizzed by them. Liam had slowed his pace as much as he could to stay even with Harry. But there was only so slow he could go on a bike without falling over.

“Harry, that would be a hospital trip just waiting to happen.”

“I know. That’s why I’ve never ridden one. That, and my mom wouldn’t let me.”

Harry and Liam sat at a two-top table, drinking cranberry juice out of mason jars, while they waited for their baskets. Harry’s was mahi-mahi, grilled, with the vegetable medley on the side. Liam had ordered fried clam strips with onion rings.

A noisy group came in through the door, and both boys turned. Front of the group was Zayn, of course. He met Liam’s eye—no doubt accidentally—and looked away quickly. Louis was behind him, talking loudly, though Liam couldn’t quite zero in on what exactly he was saying. Perrie, Jesy, Ben and James were also in tow. Oh awesome, Liam thought, the whole gang’s here.

They took a seat at a booth near the window, but they were angled so Liam had a perfect view of them. He made a point of not taking advantage of that view.

“Is he looking at me?” Harry asked, hiding his mouth behind his hand.

Liam glanced up. He had been coloring a flower on the paper table cloth with the nubbed-down crayons that were left in a jar at the table, next to the ketchup and salt and pepper shakers.

“Nope.”

“You know what he’s doing? I do, and it’s textbook.” Here, Harry lowered his voice, leaning farther across the table so his voice didn’t have to travel as far. “He’s playing me hot and cold, trying to pretend like our kiss didn’t happen.”

Liam set down the blue crayon and reached for the red. “There were no witnesses. I didn’t see anything.”

Liam was just being borderline mean now. He was miserable, and as such was having a difficult time listening to Harry’s ramblings about Louis. Because Louis reminded him of Zayn. And that train of thought didn’t lead anywhere positive.

“Then maybe I’ll just have to make magic happen again, won’t I?” Harry grinned, confidently. It was amazing how much one kiss had affected him.

“I’m going to hit the bathroom before the food gets here,” Liam excused himself. Harry nodded, busy drawing what appeared to be a litter of kittens wearing mittens on the paper in front of him.

Liam walked down the corridor, past the kitchen, with it’s constantly swinging door, and steady stream of employees whooshing in and out, trays of hot food held aloft. As he went to push the men’s room door open, someone pulled it in. Of course, it was Zayn.

“Hey,” Zayn said, looking slightly alarmed. His hair was down and soft, free of product. Liam liked that look on him.

“Haven’t seen you in awhile.”

“Yeah, well, the last time I saw you, you kind of had your hands full.”

Liam stared at him, mouth-gaping, for a moment. That was a low blow. Liam was sorry if his hooking up with Danielle hurt Zayn, but it wasn’t like Zayn was completely blameless in the situation. If he hadn’t been so wishy-washy, vacillating back and forth between him and Perrie, then Danielle probably would have never happened.

“Okay, well, see you later,” Liam said abruptly, pushing past Zayn into the bathroom.

“Fine. Bye.” Liam cringed at Zayn’s tone. It was not a comforting one, to say the least.

\- - -

“I don’t think I’m going to go,” Zayn said, as Louis fished through his remaining fries for the crispy ones. He fingered each one, testing their consistency.

“Go where?”

“To Tijuana.

Louis dropped the fry he had chosen back into the basket. Jesy swiftly snatched it up. “What do you mean you aren’t going? You have to go—you’re my ride!”

“I’m just not really feeling up for it, you know?”

“No. No I don’t. We’ve been planning this for…ever.”

“You should come, babe,” Perrie said, as she reached up to sweep Zayn’s bangs off his forehead. “It would be so romantic.”

Louis mimed gagging to Jesy, who giggled.

“TJ is kind of gross,” Zayn said, ducking out of Perrie’s touch.

“Doesn’t matter. We won’t be leaving the hotel.”

Louis had to wonder then, what was even the point of going? Perrie’s parents never seemed to be in town, so there was always the opportunity to fuck freely, without interruption or having to sneak around. Louis snuck a glance over at the table where Baby Boston and Harold were sitting. Harold was leaned back in his chair, head back as if he was trying to hear their conversation. He probably was. Baby Boston looked bored and miserable.

“Please say that you’re kidding me.” Louis held his hands up, holding his palms together in prayer. He wasn’t above begging. He didn’t want to resort to that, but if he had to, he would. Louis was not too proud to beg. “Ben and James and the rest of the guys from the team are going down tonight, and I promised my mom I’d watch the girls so she and Mark could have a date night. I was counting on you, Z.”

Zayn shook his head adamantly. “No, sorry Lou. I really just am not in the mood for TJ.”

Louis turned immediately to Jesy. Riding with her and the girls wasn’t as ideal as going with Zayn, but it could be fun. They could talk about penis size (something Zayn just did not appreciate) and maybe even do a Grease sing-a-long (something Zayn refused to even entertain. He had completely banned the entire Grease soundtrack—movie and stage versions. Louis had briefly tried to do Grease 2 instead, but it just wasn’t the same. Though they did have a funny song about sex, nothing could compare to “Summer Nights” and “There Are Worse Things I Could Do”). “Can you—“

She cut him off before he had a chance to get out his question. “I’m driving with Pezza. Ask her.”

Louis turned to face Perrie, who was across the circular booth from him, snuggled up against Zayn’s side. “Perrie. Light of my life. Perrie, girl almighty. Please, please tell me you have a seat for me in your car.”

She shook her head, wavy blonde hair fanning out over her shoulders. “Sorry Lou, no can do. Ha, that rhymes.” She looked very pleased with herself at that realization. “But really, my car is full. You know I would if I could.”

“Can’t you sneak me in the trunk? I’m small. I don’t take up much space. See?” Louis pulled his knees up to his chin, compacting himself in the booth to demonstrate.

“Lou, I thought you were 5’9. Isn’t that a bit tall to be contained to a small trunk, with luggage?” Zayn questioned, playing innocent. But he was not. Not one bit.

Louis scowled at him, and then at the table in general, as the group laughed. Under the table, he kicked Jesy’s leg.

“Hey!” she pulled up her leg and rubbed at her shin. He hadn’t kicked her that hard—she was overreacting.

“I am 5’9, thank you very much. I just had my physical last week, for fall sports. And I am, in fact, 5’9.”

“Sure, whatever you say, Lou.” This from Perrie. “But, regardless of how tall or small you may be, I don’t have room for you. And I’m certainly not stowing you in the trunk. Sure, getting you into Mexico might be fine, but if I try to sneak someone across the border back into the US, border patrol will be up my ass. And that is just not something I’m interested in. I know you have these romantic ideas about riding in a trunk, because of the drive-in scene in Grease, but I am not doing that.”

Louis groaned loudly, collapsing his head and arms on the table top. His right hand landed in the side plate of ketchup, but he didn’t bother to move it. She had been right about the drive-in movie thing—but he wouldn’t give her that satisfaction. He really had been looking forward to Tijuana for a long time, months now, really. And now, he needed it more than ever. He’d been, not himself lately. As the kiss with Curly Styles illustrated. It had been nice, but he wasn’t sure where to go from here. He felt as if TJ was the perfect place to get his groove back. Or whatever it was he seemed to be lacking at the moment. “I’m totally stranded now!” In his head, _All by Myself_ began to play. He pictured himself sitting at home, eating Ben and Jerry’s out of the carton, Bridget Jones’ style.

“Sorry, Lou,” Perrie said one last time, as she threw a few bills from her wallet onto the table. She stood up, scooted out of the booth, pulling Zayn along with her. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Jes,” she said, waving. Zayn nodded his goodbyes, and soon it was just Jesy and Louis left at the table, finishing off everyone’s leftover fries, while Jesy tried to calculate the tip.

Louis was still facedown on the sticky table, and would only lift his head slightly to shovel in lukewarm fries. He was no longer discriminating against, what his little sisters called, “the wiggly ones”. A fry was a fry. There was a loud, purposeful throat clearing in front of him. He rolled his head to the side so he could see who it was. When he saw the curly hair framing a babyface, he sat up, straightening himself as casually as he could.

“Hello, Louis. Harry Styles, co-junior club champion, I think you remember.” He sounded very professional, oddly so. But then he winked at him. Harry must have been just about the most awkward winker in history. It took everything in Louis not to laugh. And in his effort, he ended up staring blankly, straight ahead.

“Nothing?” Harry asked, looking a little disappointed. “Umm, well, anyway, I heard you are in need of a ride tomorrow. And I am here to offer my services.”

“Okay,” Louis sighed. Harry’s green eyes lit up at that simple word. Louis fought off the smile that quirked at his lips. There was something satisfying in making this amphibian boy happy.

\- - -

“Have you got everything you need?” Alberto asked, as he followed the boys through the house and to the car. Liam had his backpack slung over one shoulder. Meanwhile, Harry had a duffel and a full size wheel suitcase. Why he needed so much for two days, Liam wasn’t sure. A bag a day? What, was he planning on smuggling heroin back over the border?

“Yes, Dad,” Harry groaned, in that very teenage boy way.

In the driveway, Louis was waiting, wearing an Adidas shirt, long grey shorts that looked like sweatpants which had been cutoff at the knee, and Vans. He had an oversized swim backpack on the ground next to him. His arms were crossed, and he looked rather impatient. Which was funny, because they were supposed to be the ones doing him a favor.

“Hello, Louis,” Alberto said, sticking out his hand in greeting. “I’m Mr. Styles. I’ve heard so much about you,” he glanced not so subtly over at his son. “I didn’t know you were a fan of comics.”

Louis lowered his gold-framed aviators onto the bridge of his nose so he could get a better look at the large man in front of him. “Comics? Eww.”

“He’s into anime,” Harry jumped in, saving the ruse.

“Anime?” Alberto stepped back, evaluating Louis as if he was seeing him in a new light.

“Okay,” Louis said, looking confused. “I’m going to go say bye to Z.”

Louis walked off towards the Malik’s house. “Also,” turning around, though he kept walking backwards. “I get shotgun.”

“This is going to be awesome,” Harry said.

“He is hot stuff, son,” Alberto whispered to the boys once Louis was out of earshot.

“And, now it’s ruined,” he sighed.

Liam picked up the bags and began loading them into the trunk of the Range Rover.

\- - -

Liam waited in the backseat, while Harry sat in the drivers, fiddling with the air controls. Louis seemed to be taking a long time. He was rather high maintenance for someone who didn’t even wear socks (Liam only knew this fact, because Harry had prattled on and on about Louis’ hate for socks, and how convenient it was, because the lack of socks highlighted his perfect ankles—Harry had a whole other soliloquy about why ankles could be seen as sexual).

Finally—finally—Liam heard the trunk open, the sound of a bag being tossed in, and then it shut again. Louis slid into the front seat—shotgun—next to Harry. And then the door next to Liam opened.

It was Zayn.

Of fucking course, Liam thought, as he took a long, even breath to calm himself.

“Z’s coming with us after all,” Louis said cheerfully.

There must have been a story there, something Zayn wasn’t saying. Zayn looked as if he hadn’t known Liam would be riding with them either. Liam scooched over to the other side, making room for Zayn. He made a point of putting the mini cooler full of water and sodas in the space between them.

“Vamanos!” Louis proclaimed. Maybe he and Harry were meant to be, what with the badly placed Spanish words and all. “We’re going to TJ!”

This was going to be a long ride, Liam was sure of that much.

\- - -

“So, according to the GPS, we should be there in an three and a half hours,” Harry said, glancing up from the ETA tracker on the control screen, and then back to the road.”

Louis let out an audible breath. “Yeah, because someone drives like an old woman!”

Harry was incredulous, and, mildly offended like that. “What? I’m going seventy in a sixty-five zone!”

Louis scoffed. “Eighty is the new seventy.”

“Who talks like that?” Harry choked out, trying to remember to keep his hands at two and ten.

“Who gets passed by a van full of nuns!” Louis countered. “Oh, wait. Harold does.”

There was no input from the backseat. Both Zayn and Liam were too busy ignoring each other to back either of their friends up.

“Well,” Harry said slowly. “They have God on their side. I’m not going to beat Jesus.”

Louis pulled his phone out of the cupholder. “I’m going to call Jesy and see how far ahead of us they are.”

Harry glanced in the rearview mirror, just in time to see Liam wordlessly offer a bottle of water from the cooler to Zayn. Zayn picked his head up, briefly, from where he was resting on the partially open window.

“No. Thanks.” He said, abruptly.

Harry saw Liam sigh visibly, his body taking on a resigned posture that made Harry’s heart hurt.

“I’ll take it,” Louis jumped in, grabbing the icy bottle from Liam’s hand. “I am so dehydrated. What is up with the A/C in here? My hair is frizzing out,” Louis patted down his mess of hair, trying to give it some sort of composure. “I look like Howard Stern.”

“See, strangely, I feel like my Jew-fro benefits from this climate,” Harry said, lifting one hand off the window to pat down his nest of curls—which, no doubt, had turned into total frizz, far worse than Louis’ could possibly be. Harry had to keep his eyes on the road, though, and so he couldn’t check it in the visor mirror.

“You’re Jewish?” Louis looked genuinely surprised at this. Harry had assumed his heritage/religion were common knowledge.

“Yes,” Harry said slowly, drawing out the words. “That is why I feel so comfortable in this desert heat.”

Louis let out a huffy exhale. “God, this is a nightmare. I’m sweating to death, going like ten miles an hour, on a rickshaw. Listening to… _this_ music.”

“Do not…Do not insult Fleetwood Mac!” Harry was willing to let many things slide when it came to Louis, because he was Louis, the boy he named his boat after. But he was not allowed to insult Stevie Nicks. That would not fly with him

“It seems like a whole lot of complaining to me.”

“That’s because you aren’t giving it a chance! If you actually listened to it, you would see the genius. But you just reminded me of someone else who is doing a whole lot of complaining, Louis. You.” Harry twisted in his seat and pointed straight at Louis for emphasis. He knew Louis had a tendency to be sassy, argumentative, and quick-tongued, but this was getting out of hand. He was not supposed to be this way with Harry! They had kissed, after all! That had to have meant something. Now Harry understood why Louis had always insisted on driving the golf cart—he was a terrible backseat driver.

“Listen to me. I’m driving this vehicle. And I am going to drive at the speed I am comfortable with.” This whole outburst was very out of character for Harry. But his rope was wearing thin, what with Louis refusing to acknowledge the kiss they shared, and the awkward silence going on in the backseat. Why couldn’t Zayn and Liam just talk? If they communicated, things would probably be a lot more manageable. The angst was palpable in the car. Maybe that’s what was frizzing out Louis’ hair. “It’s my music. It’s my snacks—“

“Gushers and Goldfish!” Louis threw his hands up at this, and began pelting goldfish at Harry from the bag. “What are you, eight?”

Harry raised one hand to try to bat off the flying goldfish.

“Liam. Zayn. Say goodbye to Louis,” Harry looked over his shoulder, checking his blindspot, and turned the wheel sharply.

“What are you doing?” Louis fumed.

“Leaving you by the roadside.” This was an old trick his aunt used to use to get him and his cousins to behave in the car. When they were acting up, she would threaten to leave them on the side of the road. She actually did once, in a neighborhood. She made them get out, and then watch as she drove away with his infant cousin, leaving the rest of them behind. She came back of course, almost immediately—just drove around the block. But watching the car pull away was a terrible feeling that stuck with you. The cousins were much better behaved on car trips after that.

“No!” Louis shrieked, making a lunge for the wheel, he tried to turn it back in the other direction

“Let go of the wheel!” Harry yelled back, face red, eyes wide. “Don’t touch the wheel.” Hadn’t Louis ever taken drivers’ ed? That was like drivers’ ed 101, they taught that rule the first day.

The two went back and forth for a long moment, struggling over the direction of the wheel, and, subsequently, the car.

“Guys,” Liam’s voice came from the back, rather urgent. “Stop it.”

The struggle continued. Louis started slapping Harry’s hands, which were tightly gripping the wheel, knuckled white.

Even Zayn was stirred from his half-awake state. “Don’t do that.”

Louis made one final lunge, and Harry lost control of the wheel. He spun it the other way, trying to catch them. But he over corrected, and the car went flying over the shoulder of the road. They halted to a loud, crunching stop on the grassy slope beyond the highway.

Harry stared at Louis, unbelieving. Louis stared at Liam, wide-eyed and terrified. Liam stared at Harry, looking more than mildly annoyed, and more than a little miserable. Zayn stared at Louis, completely stone face.

That sound the car had made had not sounded good. Of that much, Harry was sure.

\- - -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments, kudos and feedback are always appreciated. 
> 
> You can find me on Tumblr as Alltoowellmoments if you want to chat!
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> xx Allie


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'm utter trash for taking so long on this. To be fair, I did start a second job recently. But also, I found time to binge OITNB, soooo...
> 
> Thanks as always to Bridget, for going on a Chicago pilgrimage to Nando's with me, to Lulu, and to my awesome beta Flynn.

Chapter Thirteen

It was the axle that was busted. If it had just been the wheel, they would have been on their merry way, but of course, because this was Harry’s life, it had to have been the axle. They would have to replace the whole thing. For once, he was incredibly grateful for the emergency Amex his parents had given him. When his mom had suggested they get him a second credit card, in case of emergencies, Harry had initially refused. He’d thought it ridiculous—after all, when did he ever go anywhere that he would encounter an emergency his Visa wouldn’t cover. But then he’d met Liam, and his life had changed.

That was how he ended up here, walking into a seedy motel that had no doubt seen better days. The car wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow. So, for now, they waited. The four of them. In this small motel room.

“Niccceee,” Louis said sarcastically, drawing out the word as they entered the small room they’d be staying in for the night.

“Well, it’s not exactly the Four Seasons,” Harry admitted reluctantly, as he placed his bags on the suitcase caddy near the closet.

“I’ve stayed in worse.” Liam shrugged, as he plopped down on the couch, looking exhausted.

“That’s not something to brag about,” Louis said, as Zayn chained the door behind them. “It smells like wet dog and stale semen in here. I cannot stay here.”

“Well, unless you want to hitch hike, this is where we’re stuck.”

“No thank you. I’m not looking to become an episode of Law and Order: SVU.”

Harry had to admit, the room was pretty bad. Thick grey carpet—god only knew what could be hiding in there; walls plagued with pockmarks and scuffs; one couch, a full bed, and a tv on a stand. Threadbare floral curtains covered the one, small window.

“Okay, guys, let’s try to stay positive here,” Zayn said as he took a seat on the end of the bed, across the room from Liam.

“Yes. I am positive,” Harry said, as he took a seat beside Liam, lying down so his head was in his lap. Liam patted his curls lightly. “I am positive that this is Louis’ fault.”

“And I am positive that I am leaving here with a rash,” Louis grumbled, leaning against the wall. He made it clear he was not going to touch any soft porous surfaces in the room without a fight. If Harry wasn’t so mad, he would have been amused. Louis refused to stay in this room for a night, and yet he wanted to go to Tijuana. He had begged to go to Tijuana. Did he think the rooms there were going to be any more hygienic?

“Oh, are you planning on making some extra money tonight,” Harry shot back. Louis turned back and forth between staring at Harry with disbelief, and looking at Zayn to see if he had heard it too. Harry’s cheeks flushed with guilt. “Sorry,” he mumbled immediately, feeling bad he had been so snarky. Maybe Liam was right—maybe going to Tijuana hadn’t been the best idea. Louis clearly wasn’t interested in him—he was continuing to act as if their kiss had never happened. He was being sassy—not just in general, but to him directly. Maybe he was a fool for believing he could bring Louis Tomlinson around.

“Why, you interested Curly?” Louis said with a smirk. He kicked one foot back, so it supported him while he leaned against the wall.

Harry rolled his eyes and tilted his head back so he could see Liam. “Got any ideas on what we should do next?”

“Food,” Liam said simply, as he pulled his pack of cigarette’s out of his pocket. “Any of you mind if I smoke?”

“Go ahead,” Louis said, while Zayn shook his head. Harry was tempted to say no. But then, there was an ashtray on the side table, and he doubted anyone would care if they smoked in the room.

“I’ll join you,” Zayn said, as he took out his own pack of cigarettes.

“I need to get out of this room,” Louis moaned.

“Why don’t you and Harry go get us something to eat?” Zayn suggested, looking completely nonchalant. Did Zayn not realize what he was stepping into? Had Louis not told him? And if so, what did that mean for Harry?

Louis let out a long, exasperated sigh as he kicked off the wall. “Fine. C’mon, Curly.”

Before getting up, Harry stared at Liam for a long moment, who in turn, stared right back, as if he was asking if this was okay. Liam nodded his head, once. Harry nodded back. Then he got up and followed Louis out the door, back into the dry, hot evening.

\- - -

It was as Liam’s cigarette was nearly burnt down to the filter that Zayn finally said something to him. “You down to smoke something a bit stronger?”

Liam thought about it for a fraction of a second. He is supposed to be staying out of trouble. That is what he had promised the Styles. That was the deal. And to also give up his cigarettes, which he was clearly failing at.

But here he was, sitting in a slummy motel room in the middle of butt-fuck Egypt, because Harry had crashed the Range Rover on their way to Tijuana, even though Alberto and Anne thought they were at Comicon. To say he had gotten into trouble again would probably be a bit of an understatement at this point. What was a little pot going to do? It was just another log in the already blazing fire.

“Yeah,” Liam discarded the butt into the ashtray on the table beside him. “Is your stuff any good?”

Zayn scoffed. “My stuff is always good.” He took out a pill bottle, in which were stored four perfectly rolled joints.

Liam smiled at Zayn for the first time since they started their trip.

\- - -

Harry walked along the dusty roadside, staying to the shoulder of the road, even though there were seldom any cars around. Better safe than sorry. He kicked at a jagged piece of rock with his foot, kicking it farther along each time he reached it again. He had his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his shorts. Louis was walking ahead of him, at a surprisingly fast pace for someone with such short legs.

A car passed, kicking up dirt and dust as it went by. Harry coughed as he inhaled the grittiness.

“Jesus, Styles. Keep at it like that and you’re going to cough up a lung.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, between coughs, which were subsiding a bit. “‘M allergic to dust.”

Louis turned on his heel, so he was a facing Harry, who continued to amble towards him. “First off, that’s dirt, not dust. But regardless, how can you be allergic to dust? It is literally just dead, sloughed skin cells.”

“That’s disgusting.”

"I know,” Louis said dismissively, with a wave of his hand. “People are disgusting. That’s why I don’t want to stay in that rank room.”

Harry had to admit, though he wouldn’t say it out loud, Louis did have a point there. Humans, with all their different excretions and bodily functions and sheddings were really gross in nature.

“If you think too hard about anything, it can become gross,” Louis went on, as he and Harry fell into stride. “When you’re in a pool you’re just swimming through other people’s sweat and piss.”

“That’s not true, is it? The pee part, I mean?”

Louis looked sideways at him and smirked. “Seriously? Of course it is. How often do you see people get out of the pool to take a leak?”

“I always do.”

Louis snickered and swept his bangs out of his eyes. They looked stringy and dirty from the dusty air and the heat. “Of course you do, Bobby Brady. But you’re pretty much the only one. Trust me, I’m a swimmer.”

“You’re telling me you all pee in the pool.”

“‘Course. It’s weird that you don’t.”

He was rethinking this whole gym class thing. The idea had been bad enough before it involved paddling through a vat of urine.

“If you don’t close the lid before you flush the toilet,” Louis continued, “traces of shit end up in the air, and more than likely will end up on your toothbrush. Which is nasty. This one is probably more obvious, but when you kiss, you’re really just tasting the other person’s saliva.”

Harry stumbled, his arms flailing as his feet skidded beneath them. He caught himself before he could go down, then hopped a few steps and turned it into a skip, hoping it would make it all seem purposeful. And not just like he was a major klutz. Which he was. But that wasn’t why he’d stumbled. Louis had brought up kissing. It made his heart pick up. He could feel his cheeks heating, and hoped that he could pass it off as the heat. It the heat was still sweltering, even though the sun was getting low in the sky, turning everything a golden, sepia tone that reminded Harry of late afternoons spent with his dad out on his first little sailing rig, which he had named Nelson, for no apparent reason. Harry didn’t know anyone named Nelson, just had felt the name fit the boat. And it had.

Louis had tasted Harry’s saliva, gross as it was. And Harry had tasted him. But there was so much more of Louis he wanted to taste.

Harry shook his head, trying to shake his mind to somewhere, anywhere else.

“We ever going to talk about that?” Is what came out instead. Which, Harry supposed, was better than say, I want to taste your come. But it still wasn’t ideal.

“About shit tooth brushes?”

“No.” Harry looked down, his hair falling over his face to hide his eyes from Louis’ peering blue ones. “About kissing. About us kissing.”

Louis sighed, loudly, tiredly.

“No. I wasn’t planning on it. But now I guess we are. What do you want to talk about?”

“Is it ever going to happen again?”

Louis stopped walking, so Harry ended up a few paces ahead of him before he too quit walking. He turned to face the boy who he had pined after for so long, the two of them now standing on the dry, dusty shoulder of the highway, their shirts stained with sweat, stared each other, eyes finally meeting. Green ones on blue.

Louis took a few steps, shortening the distance between them. He was suddenly so close, Harry could see the pores on his nose, see the stubble growing in and feel the heat of his breath. They met eyes for one long moment, and Harry could have sworn Louis leaned in closer, moving to kiss him, before pulling back at the last second and averting his eyes. “I don’t know.”

Harry breathed in heavily through his nose and held the stale, dry air in as he nodded. The two boys picked up pace again, matching strides as they walked the rest of the way to the pizza place.

\- - -


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

Okay, Zayn hadn’t been bullshitting. His shit was some good shit. Liam hadn’t smoked since…he wasn’t even sure. Since he was with Ed. Liam had never been big on smoking. That had been Ed’s thing. Everything had been Ed’s, really. Liam had always just been along for the ride. Including the joyride—bad pun. He’d forgotten that about smoking. The puns. Ed always said Liam was a lot funnier high. But then, Ed’d never thought Liam was very funny otherwise. No one really did. Except for Sophia. She always laughed at the things he said. She was nice like that.

Really, she was the only thing Liam missed about home, about Chino. Sophia with her kind smile, and kind eyes. At least Harry had kind eyes. But his were green. Sophia’s, hers were brown and lovely and soft and kind and beautiful and deep and soulful and kind. _With you, my brown eyed girl. You my, brown eyed girl._ That was the other thing he’d forgotten about smoking—the songs.

“Who’s Sophia?” Zayn mumbled from where he lay on the floor, flat on his back, arms resting casually, one at his side, one draped over his flat, toned stomach. His shirt had ridden up a bit so Liam could see a strip of his abdomen. Tan and beautiful. Just like everything about Zayn.

“Sophia? How do you know about Sophia?” Liam propped himself up on his elbows so he could see Zayn better. How did Zayn know? Who had told him?

“Dude, you were just mumbling about her eyes or something.”

“Hmm?”

Had he really said that out loud? Liam could’ve sworn it had all been in his head. _And it’s all in my head, but she’s touching his chest now. He takes off her dress now._ Jesus. Maybe Louis was right. Maybe this room was bad. It was doing things to him. Making songs run through his had instead of thoughts. Had Perrie touched his chest? Had he taken off her dress? They did sleep together, right? That’s what Zayn had meant when he had told him, late that one night, on the Malik’s driveway, that he was too late. Or maybe he had something else. Or maybe he had meant nothing at all.

“You want to know why I really came on this trip?” Zayn asked, his voice sounding an ocean away to Liam’s ears. Liam was tracing the ugly paisley pattern of the blanket with his finger—each little wiggled shape reminds him of the sperm you saw in those videos they showed you in health class. Now that he thought about it, the blanket was most likely stained with dead sperm of guests past. Gross.

“My parents are getting divorced. Like, officially this time. Mom had movers coming to tote away all my Dad’s stuff.”

Liam hardly remembered a time when his parents were together. In fact, things had been happier when they were apart. So empathizing with Zayn was not something he could really do on this issue—if it was even empathy Zayn was looking for. With him, it was hard to tell.

There was silence for a long stretched out moment, before Liam realized Zayn was waiting for him to say something.

“That’s rough, man.”

Zayn nodded his head tightly, as he pushed himself off the threadbare carpet of the floor, to join Liam, sprawling out onto the end of the bed.

“I haven’t told anyone until now.”

“Not even Louis?”

“Not even Louis.”

_Louis Louis, oh baby. Said we gotta go._

Liam’s warm brown eyes somehow managed to focus, finding Zayn’s eyes in the increasingly dimming room. The sun outside, beyond the cracked and mostly empty parking lot outside their window was getting lower. Liam could only see it through the gap between the curtains. They hadn’t bothered to turn on a light, and between the lack of light, and the pot, Zayn’s pupils were enormous, his eyes seeming to be only black, the differentiation between the iris and the pupil infinitesimal. Liam was suddenly very aware of Zayn’s arms resting against his leg, and the thought made him go warm behind the ears and the hair on his arms stand up.

Keeping his eyes focused on Liam’s, Zayn moved closer, up the bed, until he was hovering at Liam’s side. Liam didn’t breath, didn’t move. He wasn’t even sure his heart was still beating, his blood still pumping through his veins.

Their first kiss wasn’t a smooth kiss, a tender one, or pretty one like in the movies and teen tv dramas. It was sloppy, bitten lips, heavy tongues sliding together.

Liam had never kissed another guy before. It was nice, but in a different way. He could feel his own stubble scratch against Zayn’s. Zayn was rough, taking control. He straddled Liam, hands tugging slightly at his hair. By the time Liam’s hands found their way into Zayn’s soft, thick hair, Zayn’s hands were wandering, running up and down Liam’s arms, and under his wifebeater, his nails scratching at Liam’s chest. Liam moaned lightly into Zayn’s mouth as his nails trailed their way through his skin, leaving jagged, red marks in their wake.

Zayn pushed down against him, grinding his hips. And, god, Liam was so hard. Warm and flushed with blood and more turned on then he could remember being, maybe ever.

He let his own hands wander, palming Zayn through his shorts. He was hard and stiff against his hand. Liam couldn’t tell how big Zayn was from this position, but what he could tell was that he certainly wasn’t small.

Liam couldn’t help but wonder, what if Zayn was bigger than him? Like a lot bigger? What if Zayn thought Liam was a disappointment? Not that Liam was small—he’d never been worried about that before. But then, he’d never been with a guy before. He never felt judged by Sophia on his size. She’d always seemed satisfied. But then, what did he know?

Zayn ground into his hand, seeking friction. His breaths were hot on Liam’s neck.

Liam backtracked, psyching himself out of going any further, suddenly self-conscious.

“Did you hear something?” Liam said, drawing back.

Zayn sucked on his earlobe, seemingly not bothered by, or not aware of, Liam’s sudden apprehension.

“I didn’t hear anything,” Zayn breathed heavily in to his ear.

This time, Liam was sure of it. Heavy, shuffling footsteps, crunching on gravel. It had to be Harry, stumbling along on his stilt like legs, a baby giraffe in coordination.

“Fuck.” Liam pulled quickly away, throwing himself onto the couch across the room. He landed awkwardly, his hip hitting hard against what had to be the bar running through the couch to support the pull out bed.

Zayn looked dazed, disoriented. He took a deep breath, his chest puffing out beneath his t-shirt as his lungs expanded. He laid flat on the bed, no pillow beneath his head, similar to the position he had been in before he and Liam had started—whatever that was that just happened.

Shit, Liam knew Tijuana was a bad idea. He and Harry should have just gone to Comicon. It would have been easy to stay out of trouble there.

He had a feeling that if the Styles’ found out about him hooking up with the neighbor boy in a seedy motel, somewhere between Newport and Tijuana, they wouldn’t be the proudest adopted parents ever. Jesus, maybe they’d return him. Could they do that? Was that a thing? Returning adopted kids? Was there a like a 60 day money back guarantee?

This was why Liam didn’t smoke anymore. It upped his paranoia just a smidge.

The lock on the door jingled, the sound of the key working the tough bolt. Liam rearranged himself on the couch, slouching down and casually dropping his hand over the back of the couch, trying to look nonplussed. Cool. Be cool, Liam.

_Boy, boy, crazy boy. Get cool boy._ Fuck, wasn’t that from one of those old musicals his mom had on VHS?

He needed to get out of this room. He needed to run. _Running just as fast was we can. Holding onto one another’s hand._

No. That was not what he had meant. He needed to run away from Zayn, not with him.

The door opened, Harry carrying a sad looking pizza box, with Louis behind him, not looking much happier than he had been when he left. Harry looked slightly better. At least, he no longer looked like he wanted to punch Louis. That was progress.

Harry’s eyes narrowed as he took in the room.

_Listen, do you want to know a secret. Do you promise not to tell?_ He knew. Harry did. Liam watched as he took in the room. They were caught.

“Liam,” Harry said slowly, enunciating, the pizza still in his hands. Behind him, Louis bolted and chained the door.

Here it comes. Liam thought. He knows. He knows what just happened. I’m not even sure what just happened, but Harry knows.

“You fuckers!” Louis shouted, his voice loud and boisterous. “You smoked without me?”

Harry turned his head slowly towards Louis, who looked genuinely upset. On the bed, Zayn started giggling. Harry’s eyes went to him, and then, back to Liam.

“You’re high?” Liam saw something in his green eyes that made him duck his head and look away.

“As a cake,” Zayn answered for him, before bursting into another round of giggles.

\- - -

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my wonderful beta, Flynn, and to LuLu and Bridget. 
> 
> I should have another chapter sometime next week. 
> 
> Feedback of any kind is always appreciated. You can also find me Tumblr as Alltoowellmoments
> 
> Until next time,
> 
> xx Allie


	15. Chapter Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah. Remember that time I said it would probably only be a week before I updated? Well...yeah... But see, I promised I didn't forget about this, and I didn't. Just...Life.
> 
> So, this is really short, but I' working on it again, which is something. Sorry if not much happens here, I'm just trying to get back into it again.

Chapter Fifteen

  


Harry feel asleep first, curled up on one side of the bed, like a cat, his oddly large hands covering his face. Liam’s high had worn off. The room smelled like stale cigarettes and cheap pizza. The air conditioning unit hissed and rattled, fighting off the dry heat outside. Liam was still hungry. The pizza had been cheap, with sauce that was too sweet, a flavorless crust and greasy, low quality cheese. It reminded him of what they had served in the cafeteria at Chino High.

Zayn was in the shower, steam streaming out from the cracked door, making the air in the room clammy. Louis dully flipped through the channels on the tv from where he sat at the foot of the bed.

“I’m tired,” he announced turning the tv off and flipping his bangs out of his eyes. “And just so you know, I’m taking the bed.”

“Oh,” Liam looked up at Louis, who stood fluffing up the thin pillows on the bed. “I mean, I guess we can try to move Harry…”

He looked so peaceful, his face placid, the worry lines gone. Liam felt guilty at the thought of disturbing him.

“Let Curly sleep. He’s fine. I’ll take the other side. Curled up like that, he barely takes up any room.”

Louis crawled under the covers, lying down on the newly fluffed pillows. He flicked the light of, plunging the room into darkness.

“Oh, uh, night, I guess,” Liam said, as she stared into the anonymous blackness.

“Night, Baby Boston.”

What was he supposed to do now, just stare into the nothingness? He wasn’t particularly tired. He didn’t want to ask Louis if he could have a light on. Louis was too cranky. No reason to wake the (finally) sleeping lion. Liam quietly pushed himself off of the pullout and let himself out the door.

Outside, crickets chirped, and a swarm of mosquitos and a few moths buzzed and flitted at the light overhead, pinging every so often off the lightbulb. He shook a cigarette out of his pack and lit it, inhaling deeply, the heat rushing into him, while the night air outside cooled off. He made a mental note to turn off the a/c when he got back inside so they didn’t all end up feeling like shit tomorrow. Although, if that happened, then maybe they’d be able to turn around, head back home. Or, even better, to Comicon. The place they were actually supposed to be.

Liam slid to his feet, until his butt hit the dusty stoop, his back up against the rough brick wall. He’d stripped down to his wifebeater, and now he was regretting it. He’d forgotten how the desert got at night.

___

“Mind if I bum one?” It was Zayn, fresh out of the shower, his dark hair wet, dripping onto his shoulders. His bare shoulders. He was wearing only a pair of boxers, dark and fitted. Liam’s eyes lingered on the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the dark fabric. He felt something stir in him, a warmth rushing down low.

Liam cleared his throat. “Don’t you ever have your own?”

“Hey, I smoked you out earlier.”

“I didn’t ask you to do that.”

“You also didn’t refuse.”

Liam nodded, pinching a cigarette between his thumb and finger. He was always going to give one to Zayn. He just was trying to gat talking about something, anything, so his mind would land on something aside from Zayn’s boxers.

Zayn bent down, crouching so he was eye level with Liam. He leaned forward, his lips slightly parted. Liam felt his breath catch in his throat. Zayn nudged Liam’s hand with his knuckles, brushing against the fingers holding the cigarette.

Liam raised his hand to Zayn’s face, which was smooth and freshly shaved, soft. The side of his hand brushed it lightly as he placed the smoke between his lips. He lit it, then looked up. Zayn stayed where he was, his eyes locked on Liam as he breathed in, inhaling the poison into his lungs. Liam swore slowly killing yourself had never looked so fucking good.

“Where’d yours go?” Zayn breathed out, with the smoke.

“Burned down,” he said softly, his eyes unblinking.

He watched as Zayn inhaled again, then leaned further, matching his mouth with Liam’s, exhaling the smoke onto his tongue. Liam took the smoke, and Zayn’s tongue with it, mouths moving together, their bodies hot in the chilled night air.


End file.
